


Best Mistake I Never Made

by NyxEtoile, OlivesAwl



Series: Tales From the Tower [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Domestic Avengers, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Non-Linear Narrative, Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 17:30:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 66,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3258350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEtoile/pseuds/NyxEtoile, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlivesAwl/pseuds/OlivesAwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <img/>
</p><p>Sequel to <i>Between the Shadow and the Soul</i>. Begins pretty much immediately after that ends. Overlaps with events in <i>My Scars They are Your Scars</i>. You don't have to read that to understand this, but it might help. :)</p><hr/><p>
  <i>Clint bent to kiss the top of her head as he passed on the way to his chair. "Morning. What are you reading?"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Nat flipped it up so he could see the cover, which proudly read "Avengers Team Handbook." The A was done in the same style as it was on the side of the building and there were little drawings of all their symbols underneath. "Pepper said it's for us and those directly associated with the team. Hill got the same one. So did Newbury and a couple of other SHIELD agents that defected. The rest of Stark Enterprises has more mundane rules."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He started to eat his breakfast, pleased the food seemed to settle his stomach. "Our rules are less mundane?"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"I don't think the typing pool has a rider in their vacation benefits clause about reimbursement for plans cancelled due to world saving."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We're back! I intend to post Fridays and Mondays, real life schedule permitting. I promise 2 updates a week.
> 
> Title is from me mishearing a line from the song Here's to Us by Halestorm. "But Nyx," you say, "Isn't using an incorrect lyric kind of cheating?" I'm sorry, I can't hear you, my ears are going. . .

_Avengers Tower, New York City_

Stark had made them brochures.

Nat didn't think he'd actually personally made them, but clearly he'd paid someone to. They were slick, like the kind you'd expect to find on the desk in your room at a high end hotel. The booklets listed all the buildings amenities and their location, access information, building service hours, local restaurants that were cleared to deliver, and a list of rules.

Some were obvious, such as 'The fire alarm means exit. Yes, even you.' Some were clearly targeted, such as 'No rappelling below the 24th floor.' Some were patently ridiculous.

"Overnight guests of the opposite sex must keep one foot on the ground at all time?" Clint asked, and it amused her that they were clearly reading the same parts at the same time.

The elevator doors slid open as Stark replied, "I've seen her in action, if you can't make that work, you don't deserve any sex."

"Do I really count as a guest, though?" Nat asked, flipping to the next page. "I live here too."

"The rules are there for your interpretation," he said. He went down the hallway in front of them and then stopped. He pointed to two doors. "Barton, and Romanov. I didn't know what your deal was, so there's a connecting door."

Really, as a couple of spies, they should have managed a higher level of subtlety. If _Stark_ had noticed. But, well, maybe he saw clandestine affairs everywhere. "Thanks. I brought a couch, it's still in the car."

"I'll send some guys down for it. Doors will unlock automatically for their occupant and no one else. Anyone you want added to your door, tell Jarvis." 

Nat scanned the other doors. "You have rooms for everyone?"

"Yep. Banner's there—" he pointed "—and those are theoretically for Rogers and Thor."

She considered herself a pretty good judge of people, but Stark still surprised her on occasion. One successful battle and he'd carved out places for them all in his home. Without ever knowing if they'd accept them or not. She put a hand on her door and it opened easily under her hand. "I don't know when we'll be seeing Steve again."

He shrugged. "He's a New Yorker. He'll be back someday."

"He'll probably have an amnesiac assassin with him when he does."

"Whatever. The Hulk lives here." He looked at his watch. "Anyway, I have stuff to do. Feel free to ask Jarvis if you need anything at all."

"Thanks, Stark," she called after him as he strolled back to the elevator. She looked up at Clint. "Shall we poke around?"

He followed her into her apartment. "We didn't really discuss this part. . ."

"Did you want to cohabitate?" she asked, brow arching.

He crossed his arms over his chest. "Do you?"

She actually considered tossing the question back to him again. But that was a cycle they could perpetuate into eternity. She hadn't hated the brief times they'd lived together in the past. But there was usually some sort of mitigating circumstances. An injury or the trauma of the Battle of New York. She had no idea how they'd do on a day-to-day basis.

"I think connecting doors are a wonderful invention," she said finally, walking towards the first closed door she saw. "And I asked you first."

"I don't think it's my call to make."

"It should probably be a joint decision." The door lead to a bedroom, with a huge bed and view of the city. Nat went to check out the closet space. "But we're both so used to hiding everything neither of us is willing to admit having an opinion."

He stayed in the doorway, leaning his shoulder again the jamb. "What are we now?"

Decent closet. She needed to go shopping. "Going steady?"

"I don't even know what that means."

"Yeah, neither do I, really." She turned back to him. "I don't think there is a word for 'formerly friends with benefits who grew to love each other and are now together-together but still work together as professional partners.' We're kind of breaking new ground."

He sat on the end of the bed. "We need new rules. Our old ones are kind of. . . not applicable."

Rules were good. Rules had gotten them this far. "I agree. On both counts." She joined him on the bed. "Suggestions?"

He watched her a moment. "I am unspeakably lousy at romance-y things. I know when your birthday is, but it won't occur to me to buy something. I don't know if we've ever exchanged Christmas presents, let alone various other occasions I think men are supposed to remember."

"Are you asking me to remind you? Or to not mind that I'll never get a present from you on an expected gift giving holiday?"

"I don't know. Unless I really, really missed something, you've never had a. . . relationship type thing. I have, and have been told I'm pretty bad at it. If you remind me, I'll buy you something, but that seems to diminish it, apparently."

She considered. She had never had a relationship, that was true. Except for him. And she had, in general, liked everything he'd done. "You brought me a very nice Luger once. Smooth pull, upgraded magazine. I used it for years until I lose it in Belgrade in the Molotov cocktail incident. You told me it made you think of me."

"Well, it did," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Some things do. Dead plants and shiny rocks mined by slave labor in Sierra Leone probably never will."

Before Nat could answer, a disembodied British voice commented, "Live flowering plants are still considered an acceptable and sustainable gift. Also, there are diamonds mined in Canada, the United States, Australia, and other countries with adequate labor laws. They can also be grown in laboratories, which avoids environmental concerns about mining practices."

Clint leaned back and slowly looked up at the ceiling. "I think Stark and I need to have a conversation about privacy."

"Mr. Stark finds my asides useful," Jarvis replied.

"My point," Nat said, before Clint could start a fight with a computer. "Is that presents are suppose to be thoughtful. A physical representation of affection to someone. I much prefer you give me guns or food or whatever else on a random Tuesday because you were thinking of me than because cultural norms say you should to celebrate the anniversary of my birth. Which, let's be honest, isn't much more than a guess, anyway."

She could see him considering that. After a moment he said. "There hasn't been anyone else in a long, long time."

"Good. Because we hit Mojave a long time ago. If we're being honest."

He chuckled. "Yeah. God, we're so bad at this. We're terrible at talking to each other."

There was a certain irony to it. She talked to people all the time. "There hasn't been anyone for me. Ever, in a certain manner of speaking. But none in any sense in . . . years."

He watched her a moment. "Not since Monte Carlo."

She smiled a little. "Not since Monte Carlo. Not sex, anyway. There was some occasional kissing and groping. Depending on what I needed to do I would kill them before clothing came off, or drug them. It's amazing what you can make men think happened with the proper drugs and some staging. Though, SHIELD didn't send me on many missions like that."

"He likes to pretend he doesn't, in deference to his rep, but Fury does have a conscience."

"I respect the need to maintain a reputation. I play the game for a lot of people. Fury was always nice to me in his own way. On the handful of missions that did require that sort of thing he would come check on me afterwards." She grinned. "In a very blustery, Fury kind of way."

"Sometimes those missions made me feel murderous. Especially when I was, you know, there. But I kept telling myself, you weren't mine."

The words sent a little shiver up her spine. "And now?" she asked. She was pretty confident of the answer, but wanted to hear it from him.

"I think that's the kind of thing that's up to you," he said quietly.

She reached over and took his hand, weaving her fingers through his rough ones. "I would think the arrow around my neck would make my feelings on that rather clear."

He cupped her cheek. "You move in fits and starts. I try not to rush you."

"And I do appreciate that. But when I decide, I stick to it. And I've been yours a very long time."

He pulled her close enough to kiss her. "Good." She melted into him, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. 

"I don't think we answered the apartment sharing question," she murmured when he lifted his head.

"I don't know if we're going to, any time soon."

She resettled her head on his shoulder. "I think it's probably healthier to stay apart and decide later to move in than to move in and decide later someone needs to move out."

"That's very wise." He leaned his head on the top of hers. "I feel like we may have been having a serious relationship, the kind that makes normal people buy said slave-mined diamonds, for years. . . and neither of us noticed."

That was almost certainly true. It certainly felt far more serious now than she'd let herself believe. "Maybe we shouldn't analyze it too much. We might ruin it."

He was quiet a moment. "You know, I think christening our new apartments would be a much more productive use of our evening."

Nat grinned and turned her head to nuzzle at his throat. "That's a wonderful idea."

She could feel him shifting to look up. "Jarvis? Cover your ears."

"Privacy mode engaged," he replied, ending with a little pinging noise.

*

Clint was sound asleep, and having a very pleasant dream, when the chiming of increasing volume woke him. It was a reasonably subtle sound, but it was enough to clearly wake Nat as well, based on both the angry grumbling noises she was making, and how she seemed to be trying to burrow herself between his side and the mattress to block the sound. 

It was probably the doorbell. But he didn't want to get up. Maybe the creepy disembodied butler did have its upsides. "Jarvis, is that the door?"

"No, that's me. Mr. Stark requested I wake you both. He claimed I was less likely to get shot."

"Only because I don't know where your servers are. What time is it?"

Nat made a louder grumpy noise.

"Four AM. I'm in six double redundancy data centers on four continents," Jarvis replied cheerfully. "Mr. Stark would like you to come upstairs at your convenience." 

"Our convenience is _after dawn_ ," Nat growled.

There was a brief pause. "Mr. Stark requests your come at your inconvenience."

"I'm going to shoot him," she muttered.

"Understood. I will warn him to don a suit."

That made Clint laugh. He rolled over a little, enough to pull Nat's warm body against his. "We'll be up in a few."

"We didn't even get twenty four hours to settle in." Nat burrowed against his side.

He rubbed her back. "As big as his ego is, I don't think he'd wake us if it wasn't something. If I'm wrong, I'll hold him while you punch."

"My money is still on hazing." But she kissed his chest once and rolled away to climb out of bed.

He turned the light on, just a little, so he could watch her walk around naked in search of clothes. The suitcases were in the living room, they'd been too busy entertaining themselves after the couch had been brought up and takeout delivered. . . unpacking hadn't been a priority. She scooped his t-shirt off the floor and tugged it over her head before heading out to the living room. It wasn't as good as naked, but it was still very sexy.

She dragged the suitcases in while he was splashing water on his face in the bathroom. They dressed in groggy, if companionable, silence. As he was putting his boots on, he heard her tell Jarvis to tell Stark there had better be coffee waiting. "Ready?" he asked when she returned to the doorway.

"Assuming this isn't some sort of obnoxious dream, yes. Let's go see what he wants."

The took the elevator to Stark's penthouse. Clint half expected him to be waiting with bourbon like it wasn't four in the morning, because it wouldn't surprise him if Stark never slept. Instead he was in sweats and an undershirt, hair going every which way like he hadn't been out of bed much longer than the rest of them. Pepper was behind him, in a bathrobe, pouring coffee. Clint looked from one to the other. "What's wrong?"

"First thing's first, are either of you armed?"

Nat blew out a breath. "Stark."

"Right. I just got a call from Thor, in London. Hydra made a play for him and Jane."

"Are they all right?" Clint asked. Thor, as far as he knew, was mostly indestructible. But Jane was has human as the rest of them, and not exactly a fighter.

"Sounded like Hydra got the worst of it. Apparently, Jane's assistant is rooming with them and is quick with a TASER. But we've got some Hydra bodies, a wrecked London flat and three people - well two people and an Asgardian - that need to be somewhere else. You awake enough to fly one of my new toys?"

Pepper thrust a mug of coffee into Clint’s line of sight and he took it. It was actually really, really good. He supposed Stark would know his coffee, too. "Get me another one of these, and yes." He took another gulp. "What airport is it at?"

Stark grinned. "Didn't you read the brochure? The hangar's right in the building. This is why you're not supposed to rappel past the 24th floor."

Twenty minutes later, after a stop in their - _Nat's_ \- apartment for a go bag, they were in said hanger and Clint was having a religious moment with a plane.

"Do you two need a minute?" Nat asked, hanging over the back of his pilot's seat.

"Hush." He touched the panel in front of him to bring the HUD online. It seemed to float over the glass, and moved subtly when Clint turned his head, like it tracked him. Stark had told him this jet was the concept prototype he'd built for SHIELD. They'd pared the design down for budgetary reasons before putting it into mass production. He'd been impressed with the new SHIELD jets, but that was because he'd never seen the prototype. "Sit in your chair," he told Nat. "It scans you and then automatically adjusts the seat to your body."

"I don't consider myself a jealous person, but it's been a while since you looked at me this way." She did sit, though, and he didn't miss the little impressed face she made as the seat fidgeted itself into position for her. She slid her head set on. "Stark says we're clear to go for the next eight minutes. At nine minutes a commercial flight passes over and we'll have to wait."

"New York airspace is among the most crowded in the world." Stark could fly around in his suit by simply dodging planes if he wanted to. But they no longer had government protection, and since Clint was probably going to be flying this thing a lot, he didn't want to start a war with New York Air Traffic Control. So he radioed for official permission and flight paths. That took twenty minutes. Stark called down to ask what the hold up was twice. 

Nat was still giving him a graphic description of an in-air collision when Clint was given the all clear and taxied out of the hanger doors. The jet maneuvered like a dream, slipping between building and climbing up above with just a few motions. Then they were headed East towards the Atlantic and London.

When she'd finished her lecture to Stark she told him to go to bed and leaned back in her seat, pushing the mic of hear headphones away from her mouth. "It's not the worst first mission."

He felt himself smile. "That is true." He reached up to flip a switch over his head. He'd been a little afraid this would be entirely touch-panel. But even Stark seemed to understand certain critical things needed to stay mechanical. He listened to New York ATC handing him over to Gander. "Ascending to 55,000 feet, and them I'm out of your hair."

After a moment the controller came back. "Roger that. Did you say fifty-five?"

"Affirmative. Airspeed on the flight plan's not a typo either, and I promise to keep the sonic boom over the ocean." He covered his mic and looked over at Nat. "I think is why Stark just shrugs and dodges 747s."

"I suppose they'll get used to us spanking the laws of physics eventually." She looked out the window as the ocean replaced buildings. "Have you met Jane Foster?"

He shook his head. "I saw her in New Mexico while tailing Thor, but we never actually met. I did meet her assistant, though. While trying to get a beer in the local dive bar. She told me I had a nice ass."

Nat smirked. "The girl has good taste, at least."

He made a face. "I think she was nineteen."

"I was twenty three in Monte Carlo."

He looked over at her for a moment, and said quietly, "Honey, sometimes I think you're older than me."

There was a flicker of surprise in her face, then she smiled thinly. "I've lived many lives." She glanced out the window again. "We should probably have rules about behavior on missions."

"Are we flipping it now? Sex only at home?"

She didn't look at him, but the smile warmed. "I think that can be decided on a case by case basis. I was thinking more, no getting yourself killed to protect the other type things."

He turned his attention back to the windshield—which was nothing but clouds, now that they were above the weather, not sure what to say to that. Any claim that he would not, in fact, take a bullet for her would be a lie. But maybe saying that would make her uncomfortable. 

After a moment she looked over at him, obviously concerned at the silence. He kept his face carefully neutral, but she'd known him almost a decade now and very little got past her. She chewed her lip a moment, then offered, "How about trying not to get anyone _else_ killed?"

"I always try to avoid collateral damage."

"Good. And no last man standings without the other."

He checked the heading and altitude, and kicked the thrusters on. "What does that mean?"

She paused for the roar of the thrusters to peak and fade slightly before answering, "I mean you don't get to say to me 'run, I'll hold them off’ unless there's is a better than average chance you'll be right behind me. No sacrificing one for the other. I don't want to go home without you any more than you want to go home without me. So in a hopeless situation it's together or not at all."

To be honest, he hadn't thought of it like that. He would not want to be the survivor left behind. "Agreed."

Her nod was sharp and she looked away when she said, "Good." That was as close to an emotional outburst as Nat got. "I think we can make it work. We can't be the first couple to work together. Even in dangerous situations."

He fought the urge to reach over and touch her. He knew talking about this sort of thing made her uncomfortable. "Hasn't gotten us killed yet."

"I think it's kept us alive a few times. Something to be said for being able to predict your partner's moves."

He nodded, and the silence wasn't uncomfortable this time. "Any others you can think of?" He asked eventually.

"Do you mind if I buy you things? For holidays?"

"As long as you don't quietly resent me for overlooking the occasion."

She looked over at him. "When have you known me to do anything quietly?"

"Will you resent me loudly?"

"Not if you bring me things on random Tuesdays because you thought of me."

That seemed reasonable enough. "I always think of you."

Her hand curled around his wrist lightly. "You might be bad at this, but you do, on occasion, say very sweet things."

The were cruising now, and he flipped the autopilot on. He turned his hand to lift hers and kiss her knuckles. He should tell JARVIS to remind him when it was a holiday. "We've got a couple of hours, did you want to try and catch a little sleep?"

She turned enough to look behind her. "I suppose I could nap. Or. . ."

It wasn't fair she could turn him on with an eyebrow, two letters and an ellipses. "Oh, don't look at me like that. I've heard way too many stories of airplane crash recovery finding pilot and passenger pants-less."

Now she was adding a grin to it. "Are you saying you don't trust Stark's auto pilot?"

He groaned. "I'm saying someone should stay in this chair at all times."

She unbuckled her harness. "Well, why didn't you say so?"

"Now I know you're just taunting me."

Bracing a hand on the seat back, she leaned over and kissed him. "Maybe I just want to show your new mistress here who's boss."


	2. Chapter 2

They landed outside of London two and a half hours later. They'd spoken to Thor, and arranged a rendezvous point. Once they touched down, Nat went to the back to open the tailgate. She was surprised to find not three people waiting, but six people. Thor, Jane Foster and her assistant, plus a young man and an older woman Nat didn't recognize, and Dr. Selvig.

"I'll explain in the air," Thor said, tossing luggage up the ramp past her. He had what looked like two crates stacked behind him. Maybe scientific equipment? It was going to be a cramped flight home. Thor looked over his shoulder. "I'm pretty sure we've been followed."

"Great." Clint had been about to get up to help with the bags, but Nat waved him off. "Stay ready to take off," she called back to him. Thor lifted the crates and started carrying them in with Selvig guiding him. Nat stepped down to shake Dr. Foster's hand. "I'm Natasha Romanov. Come inside. We have some coffee that's still warm and some food if anyone is hungry. It's no in flight meal, but it'll hold you till we get to the Tower."

"Hi," Dr. Foster said. She had a nasty cut and bruise at her hairline that probably needed looking at. "I'm sorry about this. This is my mother, my assistant Darcy, and my sort-of other intern and I think you know Dr. Selvig."

"Barton!" Thor called from the back. "Can you take off in bad weather?"

"As long as you don't electrocute us or cause a tornado," he shouted back.

"I should be able to manage both," Thor replied.

The last of the luggage was going up the ramp so Nat stepped back. "Everybody on. Soon as you're seated we can be off."

They all filed in, Jane and her mother at the rear. Nat imagined this was not going to look good on the whole mother approving of your boyfriend thing. She got everybody seated and buckled in, except for Thor, who was eyeing the sky and winding his hammer up.

As soon as he got his storm going, the jet lifted, letting Thor zap the men rushing at them. A few minutes later, Clint finally raised the tailgate, and they took off at speed.

When they were level and cruising Nat went back to their "guests" with the coffee Thermos and snacks. She took another look at Jane's head while she did so. "The Tower has a doctor on call 24/7." _She_ had read the brochure. "I'll call ahead and have him waiting for you. Is anyone else injured?"

"Thor got shot a bunch of times," Darcy said."Dunno if that actually hurts him."

Nat glanced at the Asgardian, who shrugged. "They will likely heal by the time we arrive."

"Right. Well, let me know if you need anything. The seats recline somewhat. Our flight time's about two hours." She made her way back to the co-pilot's seat, calling in to the Tower for the doctor and to let them know there were more people than expected.

Clint grinned at her, and said quietly, "That was fun."

"Two vans worth of Hydra guys getting electrocuted by our resident thunder god? Yes, that was kinda fun."

A few moments later, Thor came into the cockpit. "Thank you both."

Nat turned her chair so she could talk to him without contortions. "Anytime. We love getting to play big damn heroes. How's Jane holding up?"

"Jane is sturdy. But everyone is shaken up. Part of me wanted to stay a fight, but warriors the rest of them are not."

"A good retreat is the best strategy when there's that many noncombatants." Though Nat liked him a little more for referring to Jane as "sturdy." "The Tower will be safe and we can confer with Stark on next steps." She glanced at Clint. "The lightning was handy, though."

"Stark offered my employment, of a sort," Thor said. "To come and stay permanently in New York."

"He did the same for us. For a lot of people who worked with SHIELD, actually. I'm sure he could find something for Jane to do, as well. She'd fit right in with him and Bruce."

"I did tell my father I wanted to continue to protect the earth. And with SHIELD gone, there does seem to be a need."

"We could use a couple of big guns."

"Plus the Tower is pretty nice digs," Clint added.

Thor frowned. "Digs?"

Clint bowed his head a little and Nat grinned. "Colloquialism. It's a nice place to live. We only moved in yesterday. But there's a brochure." She dug it out of her go-bag and handed it to him. "Stark's been building gym equipment that Steve can use, maybe he can find a way to give you a work out, too."

"I've been lifting cars," he murmured absently while he perused the brochure. "Do you mind if I show this to Jane?"

She waved a hand. "Keep it. I'll get another from Pepper."

"Thank you kindly," he said, bowing his head and heading into the back.

"Maybe his manners will rub off on Stark," Clint said.

"I don't think that's likely. But it'd still be nice to have him around."

For a while they were quiet in the cockpit, though clearly conversation was going on in the back. She watched Clint yawn, and went to get coffee without a word. "I'm going back to bed when we get home," he told her.

"I might be too awake," she admitted. Once she was awake it was difficult for her to get back to sleep. "There's a day spa near the Tower. Maybe I'll get a pedicure."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him smile. "I can knock you out."

She grinned and leaned her head back on the seat. "I thought you might be too tired."

"Well, you know. Relationships require sacrifice."

" _Yastreb_ , you're too good to me."

*

_Seychelles, 2009_

Being stuck in paradise was surprisingly boring. The weather was beautiful, the ocean was beautiful, but as Clint was stuck waiting around, alone, for a pirate crew to show up, he was not able to enjoy any of it. Instead, he was bored. And his partner was halfway around the world, inserting herself into a corporation as an administrative assistant, of all things.

In his pocket, his phone buzzed. For a minute he thought his orders might have changed, but it turned out to be a text from Nat. _Finally got to meet Stark. He is as much a douche as he appears to be on paper._

He glanced at his watch. It was probably mid morning in California. Maybe. She was on light duty, shadowing a potential recruit—who was also the world's most flamboyant billionaire. Intel indicated he might be dying, so they'd sent Nat to keep an eye on him. It was probably well beneath her skill set, but she was still healing. _Did he hit on you?_

 _Not really, but his driver/bodyguard/frat buddy tried to "teach me to box."_ Clint grinned at the image that brought up. _Don't worry, I let him live. Cover, and all,_ she added a moment later.

 _Maybe he hasn't found the lingerie modeling photos._ They gave her a background designed to be deliberately tempting enough to intrigue a man with a somewhat lecherous reputation. It wasn't out of character for her covers, and he didn't tell her how it unsettled him. He had no claim on her, not really. She'd emailed him copies, perhaps to keep him warm at night on his boring solo missions. He wrote back asked for the the ones that weren't photoshopped.

 _Nah. He's in love with Pepper Potts. It's mutual, but apparently neither of them is admitting it. Pretty sure I can still wiggle my way into his good graces, but he's not going to lay a hand on me as long as I work with her._ Met him today and she had him all figured out. That was his Tasha. And, yeah, he did feel a little bit of relief at the news. Tony Stark's bedpost was kind of notorious for its notch collection. _Apparently, we're going to Monaco for a car race. Private jet. Probably won't be as much fun as the last time I was there ;0_

Stealing another plane would probably really get him fired. _I sure as hell hope not._

He could almost hear her laughing, see her smile. _Simmer down, Barton. There's a surprise in your email when you have wifi again._

 _I'm at the ass end of the earth, I don't think they even have dial-up._ He was going to try and get enough of a signal to pull email down on his phone, thought. Maybe if he went on the roof.

 _I don't know how you manage in places like that. I get all twitchy if I can't get online._ He could picture the little nose wrinkle that would accompany that.

A moment later, _It'll be worth it when you get to it. No photoshop this time._

_Hang on, I'm going up on the roof._

He managed to get a signal up there, amazingly. He wasn't entirely sure how long the roof would hold his weight, and his phone was now choking on an ocean of email. He sighed and texted, _I need to have a conversation with Sitwell about forwarding things._

 _I assumed he did that for all of us without computer illiterate mothers so we could get the experience._ The view was even better up here, structural instability aside. Still no pirates, though. _Clint, if you fall through a roof whilst trying to download my skinemax photos I'm going to_ mock _you._

He sighed, watching an image load like it was on Compuserve in 1994. He could see the top of her head. _I miss you._ He really did. It was like a ache in his bones. It was probably dangerous, and he should probably get it under control. He just had no idea how.

There was a long pause. Long enough he was starting to worry those three little words had caused some sort of a panic. The download had reached the tops of her shoulders when, _Sorry. I actually have to work or Pepper will catch on. I miss you, too. I think I'd rather be in the middle of nowhere with you than in Monaco on Stark's dime._

 _You would never survive the lack of internet._ Almost as soon as he hit send, his phone beeped again—this time with his orders. He glared at his phone. He really wanted those pictures.

_I'm sure we could find a way to entertain each other. I got to keep the outfits from the photo shoot._

_I have to get to work,_ he told her. _Hope I get the pictures eventually_

_Good luck. Let me know when you're done so I don't have to worry about rescuing you from pirates. Which I would absolutely do._

He smiled. He didn't doubt that for a second.

Two days and five dead pirates later Clint made if back to something resembling civilization. The pictures - some far more HBO than Cinemax - were worth the wait. The series of emails and texts from Nat were almost as entertaining. His phone was somewhere at the bottom of the Indian Ocean (or maybe the Arabian Sea, the boundary lines for bodies of water could be so vague) but the messages had been stored on the server.

_Stark's plane has a stripper pole. No, I did not try it out._

_This hotel isn't as nice as the one we were in. You'd hate it, the sight lines are abysmal._

_Holy Hell, a guy with arc reactor whips just tried to kill Stark. Came damn close to succeeding. Stark took him on without the Iron Man suit, probably saved some lives. I might need to reassess my evaluation of him._

That one prompted him to get up and turn on the TV. He was at the SHIELD base in Qatar, waiting for a flight back to the states—or possibly to Indonesia, based on his last briefing. So much for staying in the same hemisphere.

Sure enough, Stark's adventure at the Grand Prix was all over the news. He watched the footage for a while, telling himself he wasn't doing it just in the hopes that he'd get a glimpse of Nat. Now that he'd finally gotten a new phone, he could text her back. _Well, Fury wouldn't be interested for nothing._

Twenty minutes later he got a string of smilie faces and, _You're alive!_

He supposed he should have told her that. _Oh, yeah. That too._

_Back to the loving glow of the internet?_

_The pictures were amazing._ She'd clearly sent him her originals, because you could even see the scar on her stomach. He knew how self-conscious she was about it, and took it as an act of trust.

 _I'm glad you like them. Though I have to point out, I look damn good in a suit, too._ As if to prove it, the text was followed by a cell phone picture of her in a well tailored business suit, winking at the camera.

He smiled. _I agree. I'd send you pictures back, but I always look the same._

_Except when you're in a tux._

_Maybe I'll bring it along when I see you next._

He had to wait a while for her reply. Apparently Pepper kept her busy. _I think it'd be fun to reenact our first. . . encounter sometime. Dress up pretty and meet in a casino. You can convince me to join you upstairs._

He'd gone to the cafeteria to get a snack. It was deserted, because it was almost midnight. But they always had a stack of individually wrapped PB&J sandwiches. _You're on. Also, the caf. in Qatar has the good raspberry jam._ Sometimes mundane observations were as important to the flow of communications as anything else.

 _I'm glad you're eating well in my absence._ They both tended to fall into their own bad habits when apart. Her with her sweetened, over processed food and he with eating the same thing for every meal. PB &Js were probably their biggest overlap in that area. _Where are they sending you next? I feel like I'm going to be stuck here for a while._

 _Last I heard, Indonesia._ He thought about telling her how annoyed he was at that. How he thought he might be some sort of punishment for the jet incident. Or perhaps a deliberate attempt to keep them apart. He wasn't sure SHIELD liked its people having loyalty that lay primarily anywhere but them.

 _Shall I give Coulson an earful for you when I see him next? Or Fury? He's been lurking around. Either he thinks my stitches are going to pop or he really likes Stark. Bit of both, maybe._ That was probably driving her nuts. Nat was not a person who enjoyed being micromanaged. Or hovered over.

_I'm pretty sure I wasn't supposed to tell you._

_Curse my level seven status._ It was a long running joke that he was consistently a level above her in the SHIELD hierarchy. They went on identical missions and handled identical sensitive data. But, for some reason, they kept him higher than her. Which, technically, meant that when they were in the field he was her CO. Which was hilarious on a number of levels.

_I should get to sleep. Enjoy California for me._

_I'll try. Stark's throwing a birthday party soon. I'll send you pictures of drunk groupies._

_Night, Tash._

_Sweet dreams, Clint. Miss you._

He smiled to himself as he walked back to his bunk. _I miss you, too_


	3. Chapter 3

_Los Angeles, 2009_

" _Fallaces sunt rerum species._ "

Nat still wasn't sure if Stark was Avengers material, but his ability to piss people off surely had to be a super power. Just when she'd started to feel sorry for the man. She'd faced death plenty of times, but never a slow, painful one eating her from the inside out. She was willing to cut him some leeway. But considering Pepper had no idea what was going on and didn't seem to think it was entirely out of character for him, maybe she was giving him too much credit. Maybe he didn't need to by dying to make everything about him.

She strode from Pepper's office to her own to grab her briefcase and overnight bag. She was supposed to be on a plane to New York in an hour and she really wished she had time to punch something.

_"Is there anything real about you?_

Asshole.

Her phone beeped. She really hoped it was Clint, even though it was the middle of the night in Indonesia or wherever they'd sent him. He would cheer her up. Instead it was from Coulson. _Don't fly on the Stark jet with Potts. Need you to stay local until later today. We'll get you out on a commercial flight tonight._

The groan that came out of her was almost a growl. He might be an asshole but Stark's planes were really nice. Nicer than cattle on a commercial jet, at any rate. _Does my need to stay local involve beating someone up? I'm in a really good beating people up mood._

_No, sorry. I did just beat up some punks robbing a convenience store and it was pretty cathartic after dealing with Stark. So I do hear you._

She smiled a little. Coulson was like a magnet of hero opportunities. _You have all the fun, boss._

_I'll have someone send you flight information._

_I'll wait with bated breath._ Maybe she'd go shopping. Retail therapy was almost as nice as violence.

First, she had to make up an excuse she could sell to Pepper. Family emergency was always a good one. Then she went back to her apartment and waited for Coulson to tell her what, exactly, was so important that she had to miss her ride on the private jet. No information came, except an email from travel with her flight info. Her damn flight had a _stop_. Maybe she was being punished.

For fuck's sake, _she_ hadn’t stolen any jets. She considered texting Clint to complain, but didn't want to risk waking him up. He always got up if he thought she was the one contacting him. She'd save it to bitch about later. Right now, she should go to the airport. She had a lot of line waiting ahead of her.

Her seat—a middle seat—turned out to be in coach, in the back of the plane by the bathroom. Had she unknowingly fucked over somebody in Travel? That was the only explanation. 

"At this time, all electronic devices must be powered off," the flight attendant announced over the loudspeaker. Her phone pinged almost simultaneously. It was Clint.

_They are sending me to New Mexico. Wanted to get a layover through LA, Travel said no._

Nat glanced up at the attendant who was making her way down the aisle to check people. She bent back over the phone and answered quickly. _We gotta figure out who we pissed off in travel. They're screwing me over today, too._

_Are you leaving?_

The woman next to her said, "You have to turn that off."

"Yeah, just a second," Nat said absently. _Going to New York for the Expo. Had to take commercial instead of the Stark jet. Coach, middle seat, with a stop. Who hates me, Clint? I'm so likable._

_I like you a lot,_ he replied.

The flight attendant had reached their row. "Ma'am, I need you to power down your phone now."

She stifled a sigh. _Gotta go. Talk soon._ She hit the power button and looked up at the attendant with a smile. "Sorry. Work thing. All done."

"Please fasten your seatbelt," the woman replied sternly.

Jesus Christ, she hated coach.

The first leg of the flight was, at least, exceedingly short. Her layover in Las Vegas was longer than the flight had been, especially when she learned that her connection was delayed. She hated the airport, too. 

She found herself a cup of coffee, and turned her phone back on, to find the expected string of texts from Clint. Apparently, he, too, was waiting for a connecting flight. He was spitballing on people in Travel they might have wronged, and complaining about the lack of Dr. Pepper at the Burger King where he'd decided to stop and get something to eat. The last one was, _They also charged me 10 cents for ranch dressing._

_People think the life of a spy is glamorous. We should show them this text string and open their eyes._

_You're alive!_

_Yes, but the people in the seats near me almost didn't make it. Who needs to recline their seat for an hour flight? I don't need a balding gambling addict's head in my lap. I really don't._

_Where are you?_

She glanced over at the bank of slot machines to her left. _Vegas, baby._

He didn't reply immediately, so she checked on her connecting flight, and then checked her email. When the text popped up, it was a picture. A picture of the back of her head, right there in the airport Starbucks.

She jumped and turned in her seat to find him standing there, looking very average in a black t-shirt and faded jeans. She couldn’t help the grin that spread over her face. "Hello, stranger."

"I think we might have a _fan_ in Travel," he said, returning the grin. He strolled over to her table. She hadn't seen him in more than a month. The urge to leap out of her chair and throw her arms around him was embarrassingly strong.

He sat at her table and she settled for curving a hand over his knee. "How long is your layover?"

"It was supposed to be 45 minutes, but my flight is delayed." He reached beneath the table to put his hand over hers. "You?"

"Supposed to be ninety minutes, but my flight is delayed." He rubbed his thumb over the back of her wrist and she felt it like he was touching far more intimate spots. "That's getting into proper fairy godmother levels."

"It would be a shame if we both missed our flights."

"I was just thinking that. You know what else I was thinking?"

She could see his eyes wander down over her. "Las Vegas is full of casinos?"

Her skin heated, just at his look. "Exactly."

"I don't have any luggage," he commented. "It was checked."

"Mine too. I just have my briefcase." Nat shrugged. "I doubt you had a tux in there anyway."

"Well," he said, waving at the bag he'd put on the floor. "I have the bow. I don't think that would make the best outfit." He squeezed her hand. "Cab?"

With a nod and a pause to drain the last of her coffee, she stood. "Let's go."

As they walked out of the airport, they didn't hold hands, even though a part of her really wanted to. That was a little too relationship-y, she imagined. He hailed a cab out front, and held the door while she climbed inside.

She didn't pay attention to what Clint told the driver as they pulled away from the curb. This probably didn't count as "in the field" in accordance with their rules. True, they were on mission, but both on very different ones and there was no adrenaline or danger to blame this on. This was more like two people with busy careers carving out a night for themselves. It was something new and as much as she liked it and as much as she wanted to crawl in his lap and get a head start on their stolen moment, she wondered why the intimacy and. . . relationshipiness of it didn't bother her more.

He put his hand on the seat between them, beside hers, and then hooked his pinky over hers. It was such a tiny gesture, but it only intensified her desire to crawl in his lap. She wondered if he did it because he couldn't stand not touching her. That was certainly how she felt.

They crawled through traffic on their way to the strip. Vegas was one of those places - like LA - that seemed to have traffic no matter the time of day. She was rather delighted when they pulled up in front of the Bellagio. Clint did have a fondness for the old Rat Pack films, she wondered if that where he remembered the name from.

He got them a room, and she stood around beside him trying to look bored—and not like this was booty call. Ten minutes later, they had keys and were getting in an elevator. They hadn't actually said a word to each other since they'd left the airport.

She had no idea what she would have done if they had had company on the elevator. Thankfully, it was empty save for them - no bags meant no bell hop. The instant the doors closed she turned to him, gripped the front of his shirt and shoved him against the wall, kissing him with a good month of pent up need.

His hands tangled in her hair—she'd grown it long since she'd be shot. Then then slid down her back and cupped her ass, pulling her tight against him. He tugged up the hem of her skirt a little.

When they were on assignment together she rarely dressed the part of an EA. It was usually battle gear or seductress vamp. No in between. She'd been Natalie Rushman so long the cover had started to take on a life of her own. And Natalie hated nylons. They bagged in odd places and ripped too easily. Her stint as a lingerie model had introduced her to garters and stockings, which is what she wore under her prim business suits. A girl needed a way to express herself.

Clint's groan rumbled through her own chest when his fingers found the scrap of satin holding the stocking up and the bare skin above it.

The elevator pinged on their floor. The sound prompted her to step back, and the two of them stared at each other for a moment, perhaps surprised by the intensity of the kiss. Then he pushed off the wall, took her arm, and practically dragged her out of the elevator. They found the room, and he kissed her against the door, in full view of anyone who might be in the hallway, while he fumbled with the key.

She had his shirt untucked from his jeans by the time he finally got the little slip of plastic to cooperate. The door swung open behind her and they stumbled into the room. Nat lost a heel and almost toppled, but he caught her, hands on her ass again, body snug against his. She reached over his shoulder, shoving the door closed so they wouldn't give anyone an eyeful.

When she'd first suggested recreating their casino encounter, she'd imagined it as some sort of mini role play. Two lonely gamblers sharing a room. But all the play acting in the world couldn't compete with whatever was raging between them right now.

He backed her up as far as the dresser, and then he shoved her skirt up and lifted her up on it. She wrapped her legs around him out of instinct, and made him break the kiss to pull his shirt over his head. Her need just to feel his skin was overwhelming. He seemed to feel the same, yanking at the zipper of her dress, helping her wrestle the top down and off her arms so the whole thing bunched at her waist. She didn't care, she had his jeans button to worry about.

The denim was old and soft and the button slipped open easily. The zipper went down just as fast and then his erection sprang free. He tugged her thighs roughly, spreading her legs wide enough she felt the cool air of the room against her damp sex, making her shudder.

Her fingers dug into his arms when he thrust inside her. Maybe it was angle, or the time it had been, or just their sudden mood, but it felt more intense then she expected. Unlike that first time, there was nothing slow and gentle about this. 

For a moment they just looked at each other, breathing hard. He looked as stunned as her. She let go of his arm to touch his face, then buried her hand in his hair. She shifted her legs a little, bracing her heels on the lip of one of the dresser drawers so she was angled properly. Then she gave him a little nod and he started to move, thrusts rough and deep.

Her head tipped forward so she could watch, the site of him driving him into her the most erotic thing she'd ever seen. Her nails dug into him again and she heard herself whisper, "Fuck," as pleasure started to build inside her, molten and tense.

He brought one of his hands down to touch her, to press her clit in a rhythm that matched perfectly. Just as she gasped, he wrapped some of her hair around his hand and tugged, enough to make her look up at him. The little twinge of pain in her scalp made something deep inside her clench.

There was something dark and oddly possessive in the way he looked at her. It was something that should frighten her, but didn't. Because in that moment she was his, body and soul. Stark wanted to know if there was anything real about her? Here it was. This, whatever she shared with Clint, all that she was willing to give him. It was real, it was true and it was _hers_.

She tilted her head so that he'd tug on her again, this time accompanied by a little warning noise and a particularly rough thrust. And just like that she was coming. No build up, no warning, just a sudden roar of pleasure. A noise that was part moan, part sob bubbled out of her as she spasmed around him.

He kissed her, absorbing whatever sounds she was making. She felt his body shudder, and he came with her. As if for right then, at the moment, they were perfectly in sync. Perfectly matched.

The poor dresser rattled dangerously under her as they rode it out, but mercifully stayed upright. Then they were sagging against each other, panting.

After a moment he finally moved, lifting her off the dresser and carrying her over to the bed. He set her down and carefully took off her dress, her bra, her stockings, and she let him. It was such a tender, intimate thing after the frantic rush. When he took her stockings off, he leaned over to kiss the scar on her stomach.

She tangled her hands in his hair, tugging him up to kiss his mouth. "Hello there, stranger."

He smiled back at her. "Hello, yourself." He reached to peel back the covers, and then lifted her again to place her on the cool sheets. He kissed her nose, and stood to strip of his own clothes before climbing into bed with her.

Nat curled up against his side, nuzzling his shoulder. "I do have to be in New York tonight."

"Ditch 'em," he murmured into her hair. "We'll re-enact Monte Carlo."

"God, you are so tempting."

He trailed his fingers down her spine. "I think the tub might even have jets." All those years ago, they'd taken a bath together in her fancy suite, and he'd positioned her rather specifically in front of one of the jets, and she'd quite literally seen stars. They'd thought that night would be their only night, and they made an attempt to fuck in every manner either of them could think of.

His bicep was right there and she couldn't resist nibbling the skin lightly. "Now that you mention it, the chaise over there looks like just the right height to bend me over." His hand stroked over the curve of her ass. "I really can't blow my cover with Pepper. It's bad enough Stark knows."

"You are the best liar I've ever met. I'm sure you'll think of something."

"Mmm, what if something happens at the expo?"

"What could you possibly do about it? You're on administrative duty."

She arched a brow. "I could do more about it than Pepper could."

He sighed, and rolled away from her to scoop his jeans off the floor and get his phone out of a pocket. She watched him type at it for a moment. "The last red-eye to New York leaves at 11:15 PM."

Part of her regretted ruining the moment. She would much rather stay here with him than fly commercial to New York and be Natalie for another day. But a mission was a mission and hers wasn’t done yet. And, to be honest, the reminder of administrative duty ruffled her feathers a bit.

She sat up and ran her hands through her hair. She'd been so happy to see him. "Thanks," she muttered.

He seemed to sense the change in mood, and sat up himself. "You should probably call Travel."

"Yeah." She didn't move towards her phone, though. "Where are you headed now? Indonesia still?"

"New Mexico. I was in Indonesia, Coulson called me back. Some 0-8-4 they pulled him off of Stark for."

"Well, hey, same hemisphere at last." She should get up and get dressed. Call Travel. Awkward chit chat wasn't going to make her feel any better.

She felt him wrap one of her curls around his finger. Quietly, he said, "Be careful, okay?"

That, oddly, did make her feel a little better. She didn't want to leave on bad terms, so she swallowed her initial, cranky response - something sarcastic about being on administrative duty - and leaned into him. "You, too. 0-8-4s tend to explode at inopportune times."

He kissed the top of her head. "I usually sit well out of range."

She smiled and tipped her head back. " _Yastreb v svoyem gnzede._ " She kissed his mouth softly. "The hawk in his nest."

He was silent a moment. "If you take the 11:15, we still have a couple of hours."

That got him another kiss. "Let me sort it with travel. Then I'll see about the tub." She reached for her phone and found a text from Coulson. _You're on the 11:15. Business class, window. Do NOT be late. Say hi to Barton for me._

She stared a moment, then held it out to Clint. "Found our fairy godmother."

He smiled down at the phone. "He came upon me sleeping in your hospital bed in Germany. We had quite a talk."

"He has a romantic streak."

"Not that this is a romance," Clint commented.

She couldn't read his face or his tone. It probably wasn't romance the way most people thought of it. But it was possibly as close as she'd come. It meant a great deal to her, whatever it was.

Summoning a bright smile she put her phone on the bedside table. "So. Tub?" she asked, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.

Now he smiled back. "Absolutely."

With a little extra swish in her walk, she headed for the bathroom.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who have read _Six Maids A' Shopping_ , this chapter contains what the ladies refer to has the Bourbon Incident.

_New York, 2014_

Air Traffic Control had changed shifts by the time Clint flew the jet back into New York Airspace, and the fact that he was landing it in the middle of Manhattan, in the middle of a building, flummoxed them. The actual landing into the building was quite hairy—it was the middle of the day, and a mistake would kill not only those on the plane, but maybe hundreds on the ground. No pressure or anything.

Nat, who tended to get nervous on take off and landings, didn't even turn a hair. Come to think of it, she never looked nervous when it was him doing the taking off or landing. Funny, he'd never noticed that before.

There was a line of people waiting in the hanger when they disembarked, including Stark and Pepper, a couple guys in jumpsuits Clint assumed would be checking the plane, and a woman in a white lab coat.

"Dr. Newbury," Nat said, sounding delighted. "It's good to see you again."

The woman smiled, the expression softening her features significantly. "I take that as high praise from you. I know how you treat other doctors."

"I remember you," Clint said. She'd patched them up after the Battle of New York. She'd left him in Nat's care that night, instead of calling the men in the white coats.

"I remember you too, Agent Barton. Though I suppose it isn't Agent, anymore."

Nat went to her and took her hand in something that was between a handshake and a hug. "I'm very glad you aren't Hydra."

"Doc Newbury is our team doctor," Stark said. "Clinic is somewhere in the middle of the building. She's also costing me a fortune in lab equipment."

"I've been here three days and all he's done is complain about my budget," Newbury muttered. "And technically, I need to clear both of you before you go on missions."

Clint raised an eyebrow. "On whose orders?"

"It's in your employee handbook," Stark said.

"I feel like you're enjoying this just a tad too much," he replied.

"The vacation accrual is very generous," Newbury said dryly. She looked past him to where Thor and the others were lingering. "Doctor Foster? Would you like me to take a look at your head?"

Jane opened her mouth, and Thor answered a very firm sounding, "Yes," before she could actually reply. Something about his tone of voice, and the look Jane gave him, made Clint smile.

Newbury grinned a little, too, walking over to the other woman. "I'll be quick. Romanov and Barton can vouch for my bedside manner." She scanned the rest of them. "Is anyone else hurt?" The others shook their heads.

"We have apartments ready for you all," Pepper said. "Ms. Lewis, Mrs. Foster, Mr. Boothby, if you'd come with me?"

Stark had quite the efficient women's club going. All they needed was Hill up here admiraling them all.

"You need any more from us?" Clint asked Stark. "We weren't done settling in."

He waved a hand. "Go ahead. Though if you're up for a meeting this evening I'll have dinner brought in and we can go over the handbook."

"His 'privatized world peace' speech is not to be missed," Newbury called over her shoulder.

Now would probably be a bad time to tell Stark he and Nat had been in this business far longer than he had. But then, maybe he knew that. He had hired Hill. "We'll see you later," was all he said.

Stark nodded and waved a hand again, obviously having moved on to other things in his head. Nat headed for the elevators without a word and Clint followed at her heels.

"You trust me to fly," he commented.

She tipped her head back a moment, brow furrowed. "Is this the continuation of a conversation I forgot we were having?"

"Just something I noticed. You get uncomfortable flying, unless I'm the pilot."

The elevator dinged softly and she stepped inside, waiting for him to join her and the doors to close before answering. "I don't like things I'm not in control of. There are a lot of variables in flying and I generally don't have confidence that whoever is in the front of the plane is going to catch them all. But I trust you. If I can't be in control then I want you to be."

"I appreciate your faith in me. Especially because today even I was nervous."

"It's a snug fit," she conceded. "But aiming is what you do best."

That made him smile, and the doors opened on their floor. He sighed. "We should probably unpack at some point."

She strolled over to the door of her apartment and opened it, holding it for him to follow. "I need to go shopping. I had to leave a lot of my clothes in DC. And there's furniture, but no plates or food." She tossed the go bag into the front closet. "At least the sheets are good."

He wasn't sure the appropriate reply to that, so he ventured, "Do you require me to join you in the shopping?"

She paused in the process of taking the tie of her hair and seemed to think it over. "Well, on the one hand you probably don't care what plates you eat off of and I can purchase food for you in every cuisine known to man. On the other, you _do_ probably have a vested interest in my clothes and I'd be perfectly willing to do some sort of lingerie fashion show for you. But that would probably get us kicked out of the store. So, no, I probably don't need you to come."

He was quiet a moment. "If you would like lady company, I get the impression Dr. Foster prioritized her scientific equipment and may have a similar need for clothing."

"I was thinking the same. She looked like she could use a distraction. And Thor seemed inclined to stay for a while so she'll be in similar need of household stuff." She fluffed her hair out and looked at him. "You all right?"

"I think mostly I'm tired. And I wasn't sure if purse holding was a requirement of this relationship thing. I don't really. . .do stores."

She crossed the room to him and slid her arms around his waist. "This relationship thing doesn't involve anything you don't like. This should not come as a shock to you but I am not like most women. And I don't want you to be like most men. If you were we wouldn't even be here." She skimmed a soft kiss against his jaw. "I do like shopping. And if we're going to live here I'm going to make an effort to get to know Jane and Pepper and even Dr. Newbury and Hill. Because I'm tired of being a shadow. But you don't have to come along on the making friends train if you don't want to."

"My dance card is sufficiently full. But I support your friend making efforts. The ladies would probably not appreciate my lurking about in the background anyway."

"Probably not." She kissed him. "I was thinking of taking a shower before heading out. Did you want to lurk in the bathroom a while?"

"I don't know how compatible that is with you getting out of here anytime soon."

She wiggled against him, then stepped away. "I'll leave it to your discretion, then," she said, sauntering towards the bathroom.

"I hope you don't think this is a difficult decision," he said as he followed her.

The shower had more than enough room for the two of them. She might have gotten out the door quicker without him, but far less happily. JARVIS was able to relay the shopping invitation to Jane, who eagerly accepted, along with Darcy, the assistant, and her mother, who appeared to be taking this superhero thing in stride. Clint thought Nat was a little overwhelmed at the larger group, but she squared her shoulders, put on her arrow necklace and marched out the door after kissing him goodbye. And just like that he was alone for the first time since Australia.

He probably should go over and unpack his apartment. At least make a show of making the bed and putting his stuff away. And maybe going online and ordering some clothes—he had about as much as Nat. He also needed to talk to Stark about making him arrows. Certainly no more would be coming out of SHIELD. That sounded more appealing than dealing with his apartment. Stark had good bourbon, too.

JARVIS informed him that Stark was in his lab downstairs and helpfully offered to have the elevator take him down. The lab was in one of the sub-basements, for safety, he assumed, and his ears popped a little on the way down.

The doors opened on a long white hallway. Before he could ask JARVIS where, exactly, Stark was the overhead lights dimmed and relit, forming a path down to the left. Right, the building-wide AI definitely had its perks.

At the end of the lights, he knocked on the door, not wanting to open it and be blown up or sucked into a portal or whatever it was that Stark did down here.

The response of, "Come in!" came almost immediately.

Clint opened the door to a cluttered, brightly light room that looked more like a garage than any lab he'd ever seen at SHIELD. Stark was hunkered on a bench in an undershirt and welders goggles, which he flipped up when he saw Clint. "Something wrong, Hawkman?"

He didn't bother to correct him, since he was fairly certain that was deliberate. "I came to talk to you about arrows, and possibly bourbon." 

Stark tipped his head back. "Arrows and bourbon. Dangerous combination." He put down the torch he was holding and stood with a stretch. "Can't say I've ever made arrows before. JARVIS, were there any schematics in the SHIELD files?"

"There are 328 arrow-related schematics," the computer replied.

He paused and looked at Clint. "Know when to say no, man."

Clint laughed. "There are a lot of interesting arrowheads."

"Well, let's start with the top ten." Clint listed the ten he used the most often and the schematics for them all popped up in the air. Stark studied them and immediately started asking questions about balance and aerodynamics and "what would happen if I..." He poured them each a glass of bourbon and they sat in the middle of the lab talking arrows and explosives and grappling hooks.

"Those electric shock things Romanov has. . ." Stark started as he refilled their glasses. "Ever think about sticking one on the end of an arrow?"

"I try not to invade her turf. This is excellent, by the way."

"Of course it is, it's mine." He drank his own. "What was on the arrow you took the helicarrier down with? EMP?"

He looked at his glass for a moment. He really hated talking about this. "First one was explosives. Tiny as hell, well placed. There's a vulnerability in the fuel lines not many people knew about. I'd heard somebody gossiping in the cafeteria once. The second one was some sort of computerized thing. . .SHIELD nerds made it, I don't really know how it works. Just that it will disable systems I shoot it into." He looked up. "Yes, SHIELD did think about it falling into the wrong hands and built defenses against it. But _somebody_ had just hacked their system."

That got a negligent shrug. "I'm a genius, not a soothsayer. I had good reasons at the time. Of course, you know what they say about good intentions." He sipped his drink. "JARVIS will send a list of the other arrows to the terminal in your apartment. If you could do some priority grouping I can work on manufacture. I may have more questions for you, assuming you're all right with me tweaking."

"I am always in favor of improvements."

"Music to my ears." He got up to freshen his glass, then brought the bottle over to splash more in Clint's. "What did you think of the jet?"

He grinned. "Very impressive. I wish that had all made it into SHIELD's versions." His phone beeped, and when he looked at it, Nat had sent him a picture of herself in the dressing room.

He had no idea the name of the brand of her fancy underwear, but he sure as hell recognized it when he saw it. Apparently, New York had a whole store. This set was deep purple and black.

The lingerie show without the purse holding. She did love him. 

He must have been looking at it a while, and Stark had been speaking. Clint only noticed when the other man cleared his throat. "Yeah, sorry. What was that?"

"Pepper will be sad they went to LaPerla without her."

Clint tucked his phone away. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Uh-huh. Anyway, I was explaining I have a version problem and would like a second opinion on Starkjet 2.0. Doesn't have to be tonight, I'd rather you had a few more flights under your belt so you knew where the quirks were."

"I'm happy to fly it as many times as you'd like." His phone beeped again, and this time it was white and silver, and translucent. "Pepper likes this store, eh?"

Stark nodded slowly. "Mmmhmm. I think I've put a few salesgirls through college on commission, but it's worth every penny."

"I can't say I disagree." 

To Nat he texted, _Get them both._

"I think I have the Christmas catalog upstairs," Stark mused. "I can dig it out for you if you want."

The phone buzzed. _Yes, dear_

He grinned. "Lingerie models have nothing on her."

"I feel like if I agree too enthusiastically I'll get punched. So I'm going to just nod sagely."

"Am I supposed to want to punch you for agreeing with what is, in fact, an indisputable truth?"

"Hey, man, it's not my fault you give off that 'you lookin' at my girl?' vibe."

"Everyone looks. She can handle herself. And you I wouldn't worry about in any case. She told me once you pretended to look because you thought you were supposed to, but sincerity never reached your eyes."

Stark snorted a little and drank his bourbon. "I suppose I should've known. She's a super spy and no one is as subtle as they think they are. Especially not me."

Clint searched for a polite phrasing and couldn't find it. "Was there a time when you thought you were subtle?"

"About my feelings for Pepper, yes. About pretty much everything else, no. Being larger-than-life runs in the family. I'm powerless to stop it."

"I don't think any of us are as subtle about love as we think we are."

"How long did you two manage to keep up plausible deniability?"

"Seven years. The further on, the less plausible. But denial is a very powerful thing. Especially for people who don't like to talk." It was rather strange to be having this sort of conversation with Stark. Other than that morning in the hospital in Germany with Coulson, he wasn't sure he'd ever discussed him and Nat with anyone.

"It was awkward, with Pepper. I guess for similar reasons as you two. She worked for me, then I was dying, then I was kind of crazy." He waved a hand. "It's hard. We don't live life like other people do. Relationships can't work the way you expect them to."

"I suppose that goes for friendships, too."

Stark grinned. "Hell yeah. Just look at the two of us."

"Sure as shit better than doing everything alone." Nat had taught him that, though she probably hadn't meant to. His phone beeped again, and he pulled it out. "In the interest of friendship and team-building, I'm going to do Thor a solid and tell her to convince Jane to buy something."

"You're a good friend," Stark told him.

_What are your thoughts on corsets?_ read the text.

_My thoughts are that I love you. Also, Stark and I think you should get Jane to buy something._

_Are you bonding with Stark? And yes, I'm buying Jane a welcome to New York gift. They don't pay physicists La Perla wages._

_He's making me arrowheads and we're taking as men do._

_Good for you, honey. For that, I'm going to wander into the "sleepwear" section._

"You know," Stark said. "Not long ago I would have bet a lot of money—which is even more money than you think a lot of money is—that you didn't know how to smile, let alone gaze at something besottedly."

He raised his eyes. "Now you're just fishing for what _will_ make me punch you."

Stark held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Wasn't meant to mock. I see the same look on my face more often than I'd expect. It's a good thing. You try to do the things you do or I do without someone who makes you smile goofily and it gets dark real fast. Banner will tell you that first hand."

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure I'd be dead if it wasn't for her."

Ice clinked in Stark's glass as he drained the last of it. "I guess if there's anyone New York was harder on than me, it was you." He pointed at Clint's glass. "More?"

He held it out. "If we're going to talk about New York, you might need another bottle."

Stark filled both their glasses. "We have those, though we'd have to make it upstairs. But once there, the selection increases."

He drank his bourbon for a moment. "Do you still think we should have killed him?"

The other man was silent, contemplating his own glass. "Sometimes," he said finally. "Mostly at night when I can't sleep. I convince myself I'd feel better if I'd seen him die. But I think sending him with Thor was the right call. We couldn't reliably hold him and any decisions made that day would have been about vengeance, not justice. And that's not a good place to be."

That was likely true. The violence of his anger would have haunted him, if he'd done it. And it had been pretty clear he would have been executioner. Killing someone calmly, someone who wasn't even an immediate threat, took a certain degree of coldness. A psychological compartment Stark didn't have, and Clint hoped he never built. Killing in the heat of a fight was very different. "Most days I probably agree. More days now than two years ago." He looked up. "But thanks for letting me make that call."

He lifted his glass as if in a toast. "I know what it's like when it gets personal." Stark paused. "And he looked hilarious with that arrow sticking out of his throat."

Clint laughed. "Come on, let's go upstairs and find more bourbon."

"Good idea. I'll even order food to go with it."

*

The group had stopped in a Starbucks to get some caffeine and sugar when Nat checked her phone and found Clint had been sending her some texts that were a little. . .odd. _Stark has scotch that is older than me._

_Stark has scotch that is older than Steve._

_Have you ever noticed Steve is kind of shaped like a Dorito? I can't unsee it._

_Can you pick up Doritos on the way home?_

_Stark doesn't think I can hit a fly with an arrow._

"I think Clint and Stark are getting drunk together." She had to say it out loud. It still didn't make any _sense_ but it felt better to say it out loud.

"Do they even like each other?" Jane asked.

"To my knowledge they've only spoken a handful of times and most of that was com chatter during the Chitari invasion." _Did you get the fly?_ she asked. It wasn't the most pressing of her questions, but if he was getting drunk on scotch older than Steve she probably wasn't going to get coherent answers anyway.

_It was wily. Stark is building a trebuchet._

"Oh, Jesus," she muttered. "I should probably get back."

"Are they okay?" Jane asked. "I can have Thor go check on them."

"I'm not entirely sure he'd help any. Then we'd just have three drunk five year olds and one of them would be able to control lightning." She stood. "You guys keep shopping if you want. I'll see you back at the Tower."

"Are you kidding?" Darcy said. "I want to see this."

Nat gathered up her bags. "Okay. But apparently, I need to stop for Doritos."

When they got back to the building, snacks and all, they went up to Stark's penthouse. She assumed they were there, since that's where Stark's bar was. The elevator opened, and at first all she could see was about a dozen arrows embedded in the ceiling. Then she heard laughter, and eventually found them—laying on the floor in the divots Banner had made with Loki during the Battle. Stark had fixed the floor, but left the dents as gentle floor dips, in remembrance.

The boys didn't notice them immediately and Nat took the opportunity to pull her phone out and take a picture before shaking the Doritos bag pointedly. "Gentlemen."

They both turned their heads. Clint grinned. "Hi, honey."

"You're right, she really does have very delicate ankles," Stark said.

Nat was aware that everyone in the room was now looking at her feet. She wondered if she should be concerned that Clint was having a conversation about her anatomy with Stark. "You look very comfortable."

"I was going to shoot pigeons off the Chrysler Building," Clint said. "But I ran out of arrows."

Stark struggled to sit up, reaching for the bag of Doritos. "I wanted to Cool Ranch flavor."

"Cool Ranch is full of MSG," Clint said sagely.

"You're full of MSG," Stark replied, which Clint apparently found very funny.

"Should we call Pepper?" Jane asked from behind her.

"I think we should record this for her viewing pleasure," Nat said.

"On it," Darcy assured her. She glanced over to find the girl had her phone up, blatantly filming.

Nat crouched down, handing Stark the chips. "How much did you two drink?"

"Scotch," Stark said.

"And Tequila," Clint said.

"And the bottle downstairs." Stark added, now around a mouthful of Doritos.

A scan of the room revealed a cluster of fresh take out containers in the sitting area, so at least it wasn't all on an empty stomach. She couldn't recall the last time Clint had gotten this drunk. Certainly not this drunk and happy. Drinking for them usually involved traumatic memories and angst. Right now, he was looking at her with a happy, little-boy smile she rarely saw.

She reached out and stroked his hair off his forehead. "Did you have fun with your new friend?"

"He's going to make me an arrow with an EMP on it."

"And a jetpack," Stark added.

"I don't want a jetpack."

"Yes, you do."

"I want a jetpack!" Darcy piped up. Jane shushed her.

"Why just a jet pack," Nat asked. "Why not a suit?"

Stark froze with a fistful of chips halfway to his mouth. " _I_ am Iron Man," he told her seriously.

"Ah."

"I can't shoot in a suit." Clint reached over and patted Stark's shoulder reassuringly.

He nodded, and then said, "You should let your girl take you downstairs and put you to bed. I will wait here for mine."

"Ms. Potts is expected in the next twenty minutes," JARVIS said helpfully.

"You ready to go downstairs, _yastreb_?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, and then she had to help him— the most deft and coordinated person she knew—stand up, that's how drunk he was.

She kept her arm around his waist so he would keep his on her shoulders and lean on her. "Thank you for the shopping," she told Jane on the way out. "I'll see you soon, I'm sure."

Jane grinned and waved her fingers. Then Nat got Clint into the elevator, down to their floor, and into her apartment. She probably should take him to his, since he was drunk. . . but did that bed even have sheets?

She deposited him in her unmade bed and sat to take his boots off. "I bought you some jeans and shirts while I was out," she told him. She figured if she didn't he'd live out of his suitcase until the clothes disintegrated or people complained about the smell.

"You know I love you," he told her.

The second boot hit the floor and she smiled at him. "Aw, Our first drunken I love you."

"I mean it," he told her seriously, at least as seriously as someone that drunk could manage. "I meant it. Even when you didn't feel it back." 

That didn't seem like a conversation that should be had with only one of them sober. But he did have a point. "I know," she said quietly. "That must have been hard."

He shrugged. "Thought maybe you needed somebody to love you with no strings. Not like you had a lot of practice."

It would be uncomfortable to sleep on his belt. So she unhooked and removed it for him. "I used to think I couldn't feel it. Not the way other people did. But that whatever I had with you was as close as I could get."

He patted her hand. "I never thought you were as broken as you thought you were."

She smiled and leaned over to kiss his brow. "You always saw me clearly."

"I want you to be happy," he told her.

A bit of that love tightened inside her, constricting her chest. Happy drunk Clint was very sweet. "You make me happy," she told him. "So happy."

"Good," he told her, with all the certainly inebriation gave people. "Lay down with me?"

She toed off her shoes and stretched out next to him. He wrapped an arm around her, tucking her in at his side. She'd rather hoped she'd come home and show off some of her purchases so he could inwrap her. But there was something to be said for a quiet moment.

"I love you, Tasha," he whispered into his hair, his voice drowsy.

"I love you, too, Clint," she told him softly.


	5. Chapter 5

_Santa Fe, New Mexico, 2009_

For Nat's money, dry heat was no better than cold. And she hated cold. She'd have preferred to have Clint come to New York and reenact Monte Carlo in yet another swanky hotel room - she was growing fond of tubs with jets - but when she wrapped up at Hammer's headquarters he still had no end date on his mission and she didn't want to lay idle in case they sent her elsewhere. So she'd hopped a plane to New Mexico, only to land and find out that a giant metal monster had destroyed the town Clint was in, an alien named Thor had disappeared in a blaze of light, and SHIELD was bugging out posthaste.

Santa Fe didn't have anything to rival Monte Carlo, but it had hotels and she'd found a decent suite in a nice one to sit and wait for him to arrive. The tub didn't have jets, but the hot water felt wonderful on her sore muscles.

She was in the tub when he let himself in. She instructed the front desk to have a key for him. She wasn't sure if this qualified as "in the field" any more than Vegas had. She had no reason the even be here, and he could just as easily caught a lift with the rest of them on the way out. Instead, he'd driven to meet her in Santa Fe.

He did knock on the bathroom door, and not just walk in. "Nat?"

"The one and only," she replied, then added, "Come in," just in case there was any doubt.

He pushed open the door. "You okay? I heard the Stark Expo kind of blew up a lot."

"Yeah, that was mostly Stark and some droids. I was elsewhere being amazing. What about you? I heard something about a giant metal monster?"

"It has been a weird couple of days." She could feel his eyes wandering over her—the bubbles weren't exactly covering. "Apparently the Norse gods were aliens."

"If I weren't already an atheist that would probably bother me." She wiggled, making the water swish. "Should I get out? Or did you want to come in?"

"I'm not sure that's a two person tub."

She glanced down. "Yeah, that's a good point." Grabbing the edge of the tub she hauled herself up. "Hand me a towel?"

He brought one over, and wrapped her in it. She groaned as he helped her out of the tub. Various out-of-practice muscles she'd used protested. She'd forgotten how sore one could get after a fight, even a mild one. "You all right?" he asked, rubbing her back.

This was nice. She rested her head on his shoulder with a sigh, enjoying the back rub. "Nothing some ibuprofen won't fix. I had to take down a few guards to help Stark not get killed."

He was very still suddenly. "What?"

She leaned back a little to look at him, surprised at his reaction. "The Russian with the whips from Monaco? Apparently he was working with Hammer and programed his droids to attack Stark. I went to try and shut them down while Stark tried not to die. Obviously, they weren't going to let me just walk in, so I had to incapacitate -" She paused to count, decided the number eleven would not make him happy and went with, "A few security guards to get to the server."

He took a step back. "You were supposed to be on light duty."

Now he wasn't holding her anymore, which was bad. His face was starting to close off, which was worse. "Someone had to go shut it down," she said, crossing her arms to hold her towel closed. "I couldn't let Stark blow up. Or have those droids running around. Honestly, Clint, I played it careful, used the smoke bombs and the electricity. None of them laid a finger on me. Hell, I even maced one of them."

"They could have. You know how fast things can go sideways." He crossed his arms over his chest. "How many is a few, anyway?"

He'd never believe she didn't remember. She pursed her lips and looked down. "Eleven."

"Eleven," he repeated. "Alone?"

"Stark's driver took out the twelfth," she offered. "I didn't have a team."

He tipped his head back and looked at the ceiling for a moment. "Of course not." His voice was very neutral. If you asked the average person in SHIELD, they would be fairly convinced his mood never swung to either extreme. He was calm and still. It was hard to make him laugh, and no one had ever heard him raise his voice. You had to know him very well to even tell when he was angry.

Right now he was furious. Tonight was not going the way she'd planned. "I don't know what you expected me to do," she said, brushing past him to go find clothes. Because she'd be damned if she had a fight with him while naked in a towel. "It's been six months since the shooting. I'm fine. I'm back to normal exercise. I'm sure my mission after this one is going to be active duty. I had a job to do, I did it. We don't all have the luxury of doing it from thirty stories up."

"You have been telling me you were fine and ready to go back to active duty since you stopped using that walker. I'll believe it when a doctor says so."

"Well let's call one because I seem to be doing just fine."

"I think they might notice you're limping." She hadn't noticed that until he pointed it out, but her left hip was sore and it did make her walk a little odd right now. She needed some ibuprofen.

Maybe there was some in her bag. She went rummaging for clothes. "If I had it to do again I'd do it exactly the same. You make decisions in the field. It is what it is."

"You promised me you'd be careful."

"I _was_ careful." She yanked a shirt over her head and found her bottle of Motrin. "I used tactics and fought smart. I was only slightly more active than when we were fucking the other night and I didn't hear you complaining about that."

"Because I made damn sure I didn't overdo it. And taking on eleven guys alone with no backup is not careful. What if they'd actually been decently armed?"

At the bottom of her bag was a pair of soft, worn jeans. Nat pulled them on and finally felt prepared to face him again. "Fallen back, regrouped, called in backup. Hell, maybe I've have called in an air strike and blown the whole place up. That would have probably shut it down. But I didn't have to because it was guarded by a bunch of mall cops with TASERs. I'm a big girl, I know what I'm doing and you do not know my body better than I do."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Right. Of course. You have no weaknesses." 

She made a sharp noise of frustration and tried to run her hands through her hair, mussing the bun she'd put it in to keep it dry. "That's not what I said. But you've already decided you have the moral victory over irrational, reckless me."

"Damnit, you have fought this injury, and it's restrictions, every step of the way. You didn't need the cane. Or the walker. Or the wheelchair. Or the painkillers. There was no reason for me to spend two months loitering around Boston. I'm sure you would have healed perfectly well with some spit and duct tape."

"Hey! I took every goddamn painkiller given to me. I was the best PT patient they ever saw and I spent six weeks on my couch alone reading files so I wouldn't set myself back. And don't you _dare_ pretend that if it had been you you'd be just as eager to get back in the field."

He stared at her. "I was out almost as long as you were. And I could have gone back at any time."

She started to answer, then snapped her mouth closed, glaring at him and breathing hard. She did not want to think about that right now. She'd been very carefully not analyzing what he did for her when she was hurt. Because if she did. . . well, if she did then she was pretty sure everything in her life was going to turn on its head. "That was your choice," she said finally.

"Yeah," he said finally, quietly. "I guess it was." The silence stretched, and he sighed. "If you feel up to active duty, then I guess you're ready. You're right, it's not my call."

That felt like the hollowest victory she'd ever won. She crossed her arms. "Thank you."

He shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'm just not up for that phone call again."

She covered her face with a hand, rubbing her temples. "Clint - " She shook her head. She had no idea how to finish that sentence.

"I know," he said, sounding defensive, or maybe hurt. It was very rare that he let emotions into his voice. "Dangerous jobs, etc. It is what it is." There was more silence, because she still didn't know what to say. "I probably should go try and catch a flight back to DC," he said finally.

"That's probably a good idea." Even though it was the worse idea she'd ever heard.

He moved his head on one single nod, and then he left without a word.

She sank down onto the edge of the bed, feeling far more beat up than she had after the fight at Hammer's. That had gone entirely sideways. Sometimes lately, she felt like when she talked to Clint he was having a second conversation. Saying things she didn't hear. That was also on the list of things she didn't want to analyze.

At loose ends and well aware she wasn't going to sleep anytime soon, she ordered a bottle of ridiculously expensive wine and skimmed through the pay-per-view for a dumb rom-com.

Three quarters of the way through the bottle, the pretty blonde girl was running through the rain to stop the lantern jawed hunk from flying to Europe and Nat was as close to crying as she'd been in years.

She turned the movie off and pulled out her phone. No calls or texts from Clint. She should contact him. Figure out a way to make it better.

Not that she had any idea how. To do that she'd probably have to figure out what was wrong. She didn't really know, but it wasn't really about her fight with the Hammer guards. She did a lot of things that irritated him. He had a certain sigh, she'd heard it a hundred times during her recovery. If she was very honest, that stern sigh was probably responsible for more painkiller consumption and medical compliance than her own personal motivation.

Right. So. She could figure this out. She knew him pretty well. She could read people like books. Something was going on and she just needed to sort it out.

He'd spent two months playing nursemaid to her in Boston. After spending a week in Germany with her. After stealing a plane to see her. She didn't think he resented having to take care of her. He was free to leave whenever he wanted and had stayed anyway. 

Why had he done that? People didn't do things like that. She'd told herself he was just bored and suspended and had nowhere to be. . . but that wasn't true, and she knew it.

She only remembered her time in Germany in patches. The early days were just fuzzy moments punctuated by pain and sleep. But she remembered his voice once. He'd sounded so upset, and she'd wanted to make it better. The promise him she wasn't dying. Stripped of higher reasoning, she'd known just how hard it would have hit him.

She'd tried to call him when she was hit. She remembered that with surprising clarity. The certainty she was going to die. The pain at imagining his reaction when he found out. How frustrating it had been when she couldn't move her hands the way she needed to.

_I'm just not up for that phone call again._

Was he going to be like this every time she went in the field? That was going to get old really quickly. He wasn't her damn mother.

_No, your mother sold you off to the KGB when you were a little girl. He'd take down a building of agents to protect you and you know it._

She took another long drink of wine, straight from the bottle. Whatever voice in her head that was, it had an excellent point.

She really wasn't used to people caring about what she did. She was only as valuable as her utility. As her abilities. What she could do for them was what mattered. Except, of course, for him.

Clint had always cared. From very early on, in a dozen little ways. His insistence on touching her. His attempts to make her laugh. It had started long before the sex had.

_Come on, be honest. Is_ care _the word you're looking for?_

She cared about Fury. Or Coulson. If they died she'd be grieved but she wouldn't do what Clint had done. There was only one reason to do that for someone.

She lurched off the bed, as if it would help her escape from her sudden dawning realization. There is was. The thing that turned her world upside down.

You did that because you loved someone.

She stared out the window at rather uninteresting buildings for a long time. She didn't think anyone had ever loved her before. But he did. And while she'd felt the tug at her dusty strings sometimes. . . she didn't think she was capable of feeling it back.

But she felt _something_. It was unlike anything she felt for anyone else. She tried to picture herself on the other end of that phone call he'd gotten and it ached deep inside. Losing him would hurt. Be it through death or just loss. How long do you love someone without them loving back. When do you finally start to walk away?

He saw better from a distance and she did it up close. Up close, this wasn't sustainable. Maybe it looked different from where he saw it. But she doubted it. Which meant something was going to give, probably him. Unless she was the one who gave a little.

She looked at her phone again. They did occasionally snarl at each other. Then they'd want a little space. She might be inclined to vent her temper, but he needed to stew quietly. He'd reach out when he was done, and they never had to discuss it again. This time, though, she didn't think he was just going to send her a funny text. She had to fix it. She had to reach this time.

She opened her contacts and found the entry for Travel and dialed. "This is Romanov. I need to be in DC."

"Location?" the woman asked immediately.

"Santa Fe."

There was a moment of silence. "Are you with Barton?"

"No. I was told he was on his way to DC." Just because she was making a grand gesture didn't mean everyone had to know about it.

"He put in a request several hours ago." Nat could hear typing. "It's not flagged as urgent, he's on a commercial flight at six AM. Is your transport urgent?"

"No." She looked at the clock. One am, he wouldn't be at the airport yet. "I'll see if I can coordinate with him. Thanks." She hung up and pulled up the GPS locater on her phone. He'd be in a bar somewhere. Only question was where.

It wasn't hard to find, but it was a shady dive bar in a shitty part of town. She was fairly certain her crappy rental car was going to be stripped for parts while she was inside, and her odds of getting Hepatitis from the door handle had even odds with her having to kick a drunk sleezeball in the nuts before she located her wayward partner.

She was at least grateful she was in the jeans rather than one of her Natalie Rushman suits. There was no way she was putting bare leg on any of these benches or bar stools.

Clint was at the far end of the bar, with a three stool perimeter no one dared sit in. She slid onto the stool on his right. The bartender arched a brow and she pointed at Clint's glass and held up two fingers.

The ice in his drink clinked as he put it down. "What do you want?" he asked without looking at her.

"When Stark found out I was a spy he asked me if there was anything real about me," she said quietly. "It pissed me off. Far more than anything he says should. I realized later when I saw you that whatever it is that we have is real. And it made me angry that he'd questioned it." She paused and tilted her head closer to him. "I'm sorry. I'd never want to worry you. I can't imagine what that phone call was like for you."

He took a sip of his drink again, and the bartender brought hers. He looked over at her. "Coulson didn't know how bad it was, but it was bad enough he was scared. It wasn't like I could do anything, or that getting to say goodbye would have somehow made it better." He took another drink, staring into the clear liquid. "But I thought if you were going to die, I didn't want you to be alone."

She wished she was a different person. That she could just tell him she loved him and that she was pretty sure he loved her back. She wanted this to be simple. But nothing in her life had ever been simple or easy. So she trudged ahead as best she could and hoped they found common ground eventually. "I remember trying to call you. In the field. Shot in the gut and going into shock and I knew I didn't want Coulson breaking the news to you."

He smiled a little. "You told me that in the hospital." He sighed. "I'm sorry for getting angry. I know you did the best you could. I just couldn't handle the possibility of having to deal with you in a wheelchair again. I think I'd lose my mind." 

Often, when they wandered onto a serious, emotional topic, he'd give it a little space and then steer them somewhere neutral. Say something that would calmly defuse the emotion. She'd always assumed he did it because _he_ didn't want to talk or think about whatever it was. But she was suddenly pretty sure it was actually something he did for her.

Maybe it was time to stop taking the bait. She reached over and closed her hand over his knee. "If anything ever happened to you I think I'd leave a trail of bodies in my wake getting to you. Please trust that I will do everything in my power to make sure you don't get that call again."

He turned to face her, and she could see the surprise on his face. She watched a range of emotions shift in his eyes, though she might be the only person who'd ever notice them. He put his hand over hers, and quietly said, "Thank you."

She thought - she hoped - that the thank you was for her willingness to say the words as much as it was the promise itself. "You're welcome." She leaned closer and kissed him. "Cancel your flight and come back to the hotel?"

He touched his forehead to hers. "I would love that."

Still holding his hand, she slid off the barstool. "Let's see how much of my car is left."


	6. Chapter 6

_Santa Fe, New Mexico, 2009_

The car was thankfully untouched and they drove back to the hotel in silence, Clint's hand on her thigh. Her awareness of him was almost electric. The drive took at least three times as long as it had coming out to find him.

He cleared his throat when she parked. "I don't want to fight again," he said hesitantly. "But if you're bruised or sore or. . ." He swallowed and added a very quiet, "I don't want to hurt you."

She smiled a little, turning to look at him. "I took a couple hard landings but I meant it when I said no one laid a hand on me. I'm fine." They had had sex with bruised ribs and hastily bandaged wounds, this would be nothing.

He tangled their fingers together. "I am the one person in the world you don't have to be stoic with, you know."

"I know," she said softly. "But I really am all right."

He nodded, apparently satisfied, as he let her go and turned to open his door. They met at the back of the car, and he held his hand out again. She wove her fingers back through his as they walked into the hotel to the elevator. 

When the doors closed on him she reached up with her spare hand and threaded her fingers into his hair, tugging him close for a kiss. His fingers tightened on hers, but he didn't let go. He met the kiss, and she felt the hint of desperation in it.

The doors slid open before they could get into it too deeply. She stepped away and used her grip on his hand to lead him out of the elevator and down to her room, fumbling with the key a little. He reached to help her, his hands as steady as ever. He was the most steady thing in her life. He'd dropped everything—and risked wrecking his career—to come when she was hurt, and then he'd put his life on hold to take care of her. She'd as good as told him that meant nothing. It had to have hurt him. But he'd accepted her apology, even though she hadn't said half of what he probably deserved to hear.

To be honest, she didn't know how to say most of the things she should probably say to him. Didn't know how to express what she felt without mangling it horribly. Once they were in the room with the door closed she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him, putting all those things into it. She'd always done better letting her body say what her mouth could not.

He held her close, leaning his back against the door and letting his hands wander down over her curves. They settled at her waist, playing with the hem of her t-shirt, rough fingertips brushing her skin. She shuddered at the contact, leaning back just enough to tug her shirt up and off.

That made him grin. "You are still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

She actually felt herself blush at that. "And you're the only man I want."

His eyes darkened, and he slid his hands up to unfasten her bra. "I can work with that."

"Good," she whispered. The bra slipped down her arms and fluttered to the floor. She jumped a little to wrap her arms around his neck, pressing her skin to the soft cotton of his shirt. He caught her like she knew he would, lifting her and carrying her towards the bed. He set her down on it like she was made of glass. He smiled as he stroked a hand over her breasts, and down her abdomen to the scar by her belly button. He flattened his hand over it for a moment and closed his eyes. Maybe some things from earlier were still a little raw.

She touched the back of his hand with light fingers, trailing them up this wrist. "I'm all right," she said again softly.

"I know you are. I know. It's just. . ." He shook his head. He didn't seem to have the words either, so he dipped his head to kiss the tips of her breasts.

He was not a man who frightened easily. She imagined her being hurt had been terrifying. She'd feel the same if it were him. Something like that left a scar, just as sure as a bullet. Stroking his hair, she arched up into him, encouraging him to do more. His mouth burned a path of kisses down over her skin, even to the scar. It felt strange, patches of numbness combined with patches of over sensitivity. She hated the way it felt and the way it looked—except maybe when she was with him.

He didn't spend too much time on it; he never did. He seemed to know exactly how much attention she could tolerate before getting uncomfortable. This time he worked on the fly of her jeans, distracting her. Then he was tugging her pants down her legs and she wasn't thinking about her scar at all.

Very quickly she was naked, and he loomed over her for a moment, just watching, before returning to his pattern of kisses, stroking her thigh and coaxing them open. Taking his time as though exploring her, as though not already intimately familiar with every inch of her.

Her toes curled and she arched a little but didn't otherwise demand anything. He liked to take his time, torment her a little bit. Especially after the shooting. She supposed it was reassuring in some way. Let him make sure she was all there. All his.

It was, however, a little frustrating that he was still fully dressed. She tugged at the fabric of his shirt pointedly. He stroked his fingers over her sex, and said, "I'm busy."

Well, she couldn't really complain, what with the wonderful things he was doing with his fingers. She groaned his name, hips moving. He murmured something encouraging she didn't quite hear, but got the gist of, before bringing his mouth down on her. Her mind got a little fuzzy then. He was so good at this.

She stretched her arms up over her head and grabbed fistfuls of the quilt, hanging on as he drove her higher. Heat grew in her, heavy and aching. She whimpered, then moaned his name as something gave way and the heat flooded her, leaving her shaking and arching.

As she calmed down, he kissed her thigh, her hip, her belly. The scar. He nuzzled her breasts moment before looking up at her. His eyes were dark, the emotion in them intense. She supposed she wasn't the only one who tried to say things without words.

She cupped his face and kissed him deeply, tasting herself on his tongue. "My turn," she murmured when she lifted her mouth. 

He nibbled her lower lip. "I'm not keeping score."

"Not about score," she said, working her hands under his shirt. "It's about being partners. Give and take." _And I don't always be the one taking._

He sat up and lifted his arms to let her pull it over his head. Then he smiled and said, "You give plenty," just like he could read her mind. She wondered, in hindsight, how it had been possible for her to not know he loved her.

Nudging at his shoulder she managed to get them rolled over, straddling his hips. She took a moment to look at him, though she knew his body at least as well as he knew hers. He was the first man she'd wanted for herself, with no influence from anyone else. Her only real lover. She would do what she had to to keep him. Even if it hurt, even if it split her into pieces.

Leaning down, she dropped lines of kisses over his skin, just as he had her. He tangled his hands into her hair, pulling the long locks over her shoulders, winding the curls around his fingers. She didn't miss his sigh, half desire and half contentment.

He had his own scars, most old and faded. A few predated her, though she'd heard the stories enough times to recite them herself. She ran her tongue over a flat white line that bridged two of his ribs, hands eagerly unfastening his belt and fly. His abs twitched under her mouth, and he gave a small laugh. Ticklish. Then she got his jeans open and the sound turned into a groan as she slid her hand inside.

He was more than half hard when she wrapped her hand around him. She gave him one long, slow stroke, before tightening her grip and repeating the motion, this time earning a noise and lift of his hips. He so rarely made noise, she must be doing something right. Her mouth wandered closer, trailing the outline of his hip bone as she stroked. 

She decided she wanted him as naked as she, so she paused to gently take off his boots, and push his jeans and boxers down his legs. He pushed up on an elbow to watch her. When she returned to her slow exploration, he whispered, "Tasha. Please."

Giving his thigh a little squeeze, she pressed a kiss just below his navel then ducked her head to take his cock in her mouth. She wasn't entirely sure if it was what he'd been asking for, he might have just wanted her to climb on and get to the main event, so to speak, but she wanted to draw this out. To spoil him a little bit, as best she could. His hips bucked a little, and his fingers tightened in hair. She took that as encouragement.

She knew how to work him as well as he did her. So she put all her considerable skill to the task, using her lips and tongue and the occasional scrape of her teeth. She relished every move of his hips and tug of his hand. It was so hard to get him to lose control. She got a gasp, and then a groan. He whispered her name again, and she could hear desperation in his voice.

That was probably as far as she could push him. Fun as it was when she pushed him a little bit farther than that, she was trying to spoil, not torment. So with one last slow lick she released him and shifted to straddle him again, setting the tip of him at her entrance. He skimmed his hands up the outside of her thighs, but he didn't tug her down. He just looked up at her and repeated, "Please."

Smiling a little, she started to rock, letting him in an inch at a time, more with every stroke. His fingers dug roughly into her skin, but he managed to let her go at her own speed. Until he was buried inside her completely, her ass resting lightly on his thighs.

He moved is hands behind her, sliding them up her back and pulling her down so he could kiss her. "I will never get tired of how you feel," he murmured against her mouth.

She kissed him tenderly. "I love how you feel."

When she lifted her head he smiled at her, and held her gaze. She could see all the things he couldn't say in his eyes. She hoped he could see the same. He cupped her cheek, and brushed his thumb over her lower lip. At the same time, he reached between them and repeated the same motion with his other thumb over her clit.

Her breath left her in a shuddery rush as pleasure jolted through her. She braced her hands on either side of his head and began to move on him in long, slow strokes that took him to the hilt every time. He kept his thumb where it was grazing her clit with every down stroke. Little whimpers came from her at every touch but she didn't change her pace, enjoying the slow build of aching heat inside her.

His eyes fluttered a little every time she sank down, and his breathing got harsher, heavier. "Tasha," he whispered.

"I love that you call me that," she told him, bending to kiss him. She rested her forehead on his and let go, pace quickening for a few moments before she came. She thrust down hard, taking him as deep as she could as she clenched around him. Blood roared in her ears, her climax blotting out everything but the feel of him inside her, beneath her.

She felt him surge up, and he groaned when he came. He held her close as they both shook, riding it out and drifting slowly back down. There was a long, still silence as they caught their breath. Then he nuzzled her hair and said, "This is real. Whatever it is. It's real and I don't want to lose it."

She stroked a hand down his arm. "Neither do I. And it is. Very real."

He sighed in contentment. "We'll be all right."

*

_New York City, 2014, Avengers Tower_

Clint woke to a pounding headache, a stiff neck, and the taste of old gym socks in his mouth. The room was mercifully dark, curtains pulled tightly closed. Someone had removed his boots and and clothes and tucked him in. Based on the scent of the pillow he was fairly certain that had been Nat and not Stark. Thank heaven for small favors.

He lay in bed a while, regretting all past decisions and wondering if he was going to vomit from a hangover for the first time since discovering good tequila. Then the smell of coffee and bacon reached him and he found the will to live a little longer.

Nat was in the kitchen at the round wood table. She had a full breakfast in front of her and was drinking coffee out of a mug with a lady bug pattern. At the other seat there was a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon, with a steaming cup of black coffee and three small white pills he assumed were aspirin. She was reading something thick, with slick pages and color illustrations. Like Stark's brochure on steroids.

He bent to kiss the top of her head as he passed on the way to his chair. "Morning. What are you reading?"

"Our employee handbook. Stark wasn't kidding. And the benefits are impressive."

"Is it for his whole company or just us?"

She flipped it up so he could see the cover, which proudly read "Avengers Team Handbook." The A was done in the same style as it was on the side of the building and there were little drawings of all their symbols underneath. "Pepper said it's for us and those directly associated with the team. Hill got the same one. So did Newbury and a couple of other SHIELD agents that defected. The rest of Stark Enterprises has more mundane rules."

He started to eat his breakfast, pleased the food seemed to settle his stomach. "Our rules are less mundane?"

"I don't think the typing pool has a rider in their vacation benefits clause about reimbursement for plans cancelled due to world saving."

That was actually quite nice of Stark. "I hope there isn't a rule against fraternization."

With a few quick motions she flipped pages. "Under interpersonal relationships and morality clause it says 'You can people your bed with goats for all I care.'"

"Sheep," Clint replied. "It's supposed to be sheep."

She pulled a pen out and made a little note. "Pepper said they were open to feedback."

He laughed. "It's a quote from a movie called The Lion in Winter. If you've ever been stuck in a safe-house with Coulson, you've probably seen it. It's one of his favorites. His lecture on fishing off the company pier includes that quote." He looked up at her.

Her mouth quirked. "Did you get this speech at one point?"

"He recited it once in monotone, so he could check it off his mental list."

"He does like his boxes checked. Maybe I'll call him and tell him Stark's messing it up."

"So do we really need medical exams?"

"Yes, page seven." She flipped through again. "'All active team members must be cleared by the team doctor or a designated member of her staff. Clearance is also required after any major injury or a break from active duty lasting six months or more. Annual physicals, testing and psych evals are required at the discretion of the team doctor.'" Nat looked back at him. "The man knows how to write an employee manual."

"Hundred bucks says Pepper wrote that. More specifically, she wrote it aimed at _him_."

She put the manual down to pick up her mug and drink. "I believe that. If we were running a business you'd put it in the contract that I had to go to the doctor regularly."

He smiled around the rim of his coffee cup. "Yes, I would." When he put the cup down, he said, "JARVIS, can you set us up with appointments to see Dr. Newbury today for medical evals."

There was no immediate reply, he assumed while the AI checked the schedule or discussed it with the doctor. He took the opportunity to point at her mug. "What's with the lady bugs?"

She blew out a breath. "Darcy Lewis is remarkably persuasive. She convinced me it was as close to black widows as I was going to get." She took and other sip of coffee. "There was a street vendor selling Avengers shirts. I bought one."

He chuckled. "Which one?"

"Yours. Grey with a black bow and quiver drawn on it. Surprisingly good quality for street vendor."

"Is it caveman that that pleases me?"

"Yeah, but I like it when you're a little caveman," she told him with a wink and a smile.

JARVIS pinged above their heads. "You have appointments ad 11:45 and 12:15 with Dr. Newbury. The medical clinic is on the fortieth floor. Would you like me to remind you five minutes prior?"

"Yes, thank you. Who's first?"

"Doctor Newbury said it was up to you and you were welcome to come together."

He leaned back to look at the ceiling. "Together?"

"Medical clearance exams are non invasive. Dr. Newbury is under the impression you were close enough to share the time." Intellectually, Clint knew the AI couldn't have emotion and gossip. But it sure as hell sounded like it did sometimes.

"It's not— We are." He thought so, anyway. He didn't look at Nat for confirmation. Some parts if this, of them, were very new. "I just thought doctors were picky about confidentiality and all that."

There was the faintest of pauses. "Dr. Newbury does not function like a conventional doctor." The disapproving _Much like the rest of the people here_ was implied but unsaid.

He looked at Nat. "Do you want to go separately?"

She shrugged. "I don't mind. You've helped change a wound dressing you can watch me get my blood pressure taken."

"If you're going to be in one of those backless gowns I may need to worry about my blood pressure."

She held up a placating hand. "If you want to go alone. . ."

"It's fine. JARVIS, tell her we'll be there at 11:45."

"I'll remind you at 11:40."

Nat pointed to the ceiling. "That is handy."

He finished his breakfast, and reached for her plate when he stood. "So, how embarrassing was I last night?"

"Oh, not too bad. It was the happiest drunk I've ever seen you have. You even did the 'I love you man' thing."

He stared at her. "Please tell me only to you."

"Well. In my presence. I have no idea what you and Stark got up to before I got there. Other than designing arrows and trying to shoot a fly that may or may not have existed."

"I have only vague memories of that. Thank you for putting me to bed and all. I clearly really need some sleep."

"Yeah," she said softly. Suddenly, she got up and kissed him. "I love you."

He slid an arm around her. "I love you, too. You okay?"

"Yeah. Sorry. Last night when you were doing your happy drunk thing you told me how you loved me even when I didn't love you back and I just. . . thought saying it more would be good."

He winced. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"You were drunk. And you told me you gave me time to process. Which is what I needed."

"I know. For a while I was afraid you'd figure it out and panic. That that would be how you'd take it. That you didn't seemed like a step." 

She leaned on the table but kept hold of his wrist."When I realized it, I figured that whatever I did feel for you was more than I felt for anyone else. And I didn't want to lose you. So I had to find some way to. . . meet you in the middle."

He remembered the night they'd fought about her getting into an altercation while still on Admin duty. He could tell how desperately she had been trying to tell him something, when she came to apologize. He hadn't been entirely sure what—though maybe neither had she. "It was something. It was enough."

With a tug she got him close enough to kiss. "At least I got better at it. Eventually."

"It's all right. I think New York would have be much worse if you hadn't had your walls still up." He wound a curl around his finger. She'd let it air dry this morning. "Loki asked me if I loved you, and if it was returned. I think he would have come at you much worse if I'd said yes."

Her posture changed subtly, but he knew her well enough to recognize it. "I don't think he needed you to tell him."

He rubbed her back. "I'm sorry." He didn't know why he was talking about New York. Other than he and Stark had talked about it last night. The conversation that preceded happy drunk and shooting flies had been about death and darkness, about nightmares and panic attacks. 

"Hey," she said softly. She leaned back and cupped his face, kissing him. "He's gone. And we're here."

He pulled her against his chest, enjoying the simple miracle of that fact. "Will you show me what you bought yesterday?"

"You mean the T-shirt?" she teased.

"I mean the La Perla. I was sober during that part."

She laughed and stepped away, tugging his hands as she backed towards the bedroom. "I can arrange that."


	7. Chapter 7

The fashion show turned out every bit as entertaining as he'd hoped, and led them into something to do to fill up the rest of the morning. Sex made for an excellent hangover cure.

Nat had burrowed herself against his side and appeared to be enjoying a post-coital doze when JARVIS pinged in the ceiling. "It is eleven forty."

She grumbled into his skin. "We didn't even get to the sleepwear."

He leaned over to kiss her shoulder. "The corset was very enticing."

"The saleslady was happy to point out their fall styles will be in-store in a few weeks." She kissed his mouth and stretched, rolling to the edge of the bed. "Ready for our physicals?"

He reached out and trailed his fingertips down her spine. He wondered if he'd ever get tired of touching her. "I suppose."

To his dismay, she got off the bed and started dressing. Though he did notice she put the white La Perla back on under her jeans and tank top.

"We probably should have showered," he commented as he got up to dress himself.

He saw her hesitate a moment. "Yeah, probably. But JARVIS said it wasn't invasive and Newbury's an adult."

"You ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

They took the elevator to the fortieth floor and JARVIS did the trick with the lights again to guide them to the infirmary. There were pretty obvious signs and arrows pointing to it as well. Some of the other doors were open and Clint caught glimpses of sterile white and metal rooms full of boxes and haphazard furniture.

The infirmary door was ajar. They stepped into a large room with several other rooms off of it. There was a desk and filing cabinets in one corner and a long, low table in the center of the room, currently covered with papers and manilla folders. Dr. Newbury stood at one end having an animated conversation with a petite blonde woman a year or two younger than Nat with springy curls and bright green eyes. "What is wrong with alphabetical? Or chronological? Both fine systems?" the blonde was saying.

"They're my files," Newbury responded, sounding both irritated and eternally patient. "I can organize them however I like."

"It makes no sense!"

"It makes perfect sense to me."

The blonde flung her hands out. "I have to find things too!"

Newbury put a hand on the younger woman's shoulder and said solemnly, "Then you will learn the system, young padawan. Or you will fail."

Clint cleared his throat. "Barton and Romanov, reporting for appointments."

The women turned to look at them. Newbury smiled. "Ah, patients. I remember having patients, don't you, Tiffani?"

"Once. Long long ago."

"Barton, Romanov, this is my head nurse, Tiffani Myers. Tiffani, Barton and Romanov, formerly of SHIELD."

"I know who they are, thank you." The young woman shook their hands with a smile. "Nice to meet you both." Clint noticed she gave Nat a subtle, appreciative once over. "I have more boxes to unpack. Yell if you need me," she added to Newbury over her shoulder as she slipped out.

The doctor pointed to one of the smaller connecting rooms. "I have one exam room set up, head in."

He gave Nat a little nudge, and they went inside. "So, what do these exams consist of?"

"Standard stuff. Blood panel, vitals, a few overly personal questions." Newbury looked up from the equipment she was setting out and narrowed her eyes at him. "I assume giving you a vision exam would embarrass us both?"

He smiled. "I don't know. They say your vision weakens as you age." He hopped up on the exam table. "SHIELD medical has had a long running debate as to whether my eyesight should qualify me as Registered Gifted. You're welcome to measure me and decide if I'm a superhero or not." 

"I _do_ like to be the deciding vote on long running debates." The doctor handed Nat a clipboard. "You can get started on your overly personal questionnaire, if you like."

"I could probably fill his out, too, if you wanted," Nat offered, sinking into a chair on his right. "For example. Middle name, Francis."

Newbury gave him a sympathetic look. "Mine's worse." She held up tubing and some empty vials. "Any needlephobia I should know about?"

"As long as it's not going under my nails or in my eyeball," Clint said. He took his own clipboard, but added, "The vein in her left arm looks really tempting, but it rolls."

"Good to know." She went to his right arm, apparently noting which hand he was writing with. He scribbled awkwardly while she wrapped a tourniquet over his bicep and started poking the inside of his elbow for a vein. "With handwriting like that you could have been a doctor," she noted as she slipped the needle in without even a prick. Nat snorted and tapped his knee with her pen.

"You probably would have preferred she fill it out," he conceded. "Her handwriting is perfect, if still vaguely cyrillic."

"I do occasionally write my 'n's' backwards," Nat admitted.

Newbury took the blood she needed and stepped away to label it before returning with a stethoscope and blood pressure cuff. She was silent as she worked and he focused on his forms. There was music playing on the PA system but it was too quiet for him to make out the words.

There was a section on family history that he frowned at. Natasha could just write unknown everywhere. He knew enough about his family, he just didn't like thinking about them. "You didn't get our files from the SHEILD data dump?" he asked.

"Medical files weren't stored with the rest of the information. HIPPA and all that." She held the end of the stethoscope in her hand to warm it. "The servers that housed them were in the Triskelion. I've been able to get a handful of hard copies, but it's mostly lower level agents. Can I have your shirt off, please?"

He pulled his t-shirt over his head. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Nat stop writing and look up to watch. Which was amusing, given how often she already saw him shirtless.

Newbury, to her credit, kept the same impassive doctor-face on as she checked his heart and lungs. Then she stood in front of him and prodded his throat and jaw with cool, firm fingers. "Have you been sick recently?"

"No, but I was nearly black-out drunk yesterday, and very hungover this morning. Couple of weeks ago I was eating too much rabbit, I think. And some kind of weird lizard that made me sick. Maybe a little heatstroke early on. I was in the Outback."

She leaned back to look at him, impassive face gone, replaced with a look of incredulity. She glanced over at Nat and he looked over in time to see her shrug. Newbury muttered something about his blood test being interesting reading and went back to her exam.

"I'm also mostly impervious to temperature," he added. "Particularly cold."

Her brow furrowed. "Is this recent?"

"It's since the Loki thing," Nat piped up, turning the page of her forms. 

"Huh." Newbury made a note in her files. "Dr. Selvig noted a similar phenomena."

"I never mentioned it to SHIELD. I don't really like discussing. . . any of that."

"I can understand that. The list of traumatic experiences I have that I don't want to talk about could fill a book. Except they won't because I don't want to talk about them." She grinned as she picked up her ophthalmoscope and shined the light in his eyes. "If you have trouble sleeping try melatonin supplements, they're over the counter and surprisingly effective for a variety of insomnia causes."

"I've heard it causes vivid dreams. Mine don't need help."

She made a little impressed face, arching a brow. "Fair enough. Say 'ahhh.'" He obeyed and shed checked his mouth and throat, before stepping away to make other notes. "That's it except for the vision test which we need to do in the other room so you can be far enough away from the chart. Do you have any health questions or concerns?"

"No. But you should check how Nat's shoulder is healing. It looks a little red to me."

He didn't have to look at her to _feel_ the death glare Nat was now giving him. He tugged his shirt back on and slid off the table so they could switch seats. She gave him dagger eyes the entire time.

Newbury seemed to be taking her time with the new blood draw paraphernalia so they could have their moment.

"I only said it so she'd make you take your shirt off."

"You suck," she informed him. She didn't even flinch when Newbury took the blood. Though she did put up a token protest of, "My shoulder feels fine."

"And yet, I'm going to examine it anyway," Newbury said, voice dripping in sympathy.

It amused the hell out of him that he got a 'neutral scientist' tone of voice, and Nat got one that was almost. . .pediatrician.

Nat obediently took her top off when requested and, in what seemed like an uncharacteristically girly moment, Newbury said, "Is that La Perla? Do they have a store around here?" Which began an equally girly conversation about shopping that he tuned out.

It took him a moment to realize Newbury had tuned it out too and was examining Nat's shoulder carefully. He was suddenly very certain that the underwear squealing had been to distract Nat from complaining about the inspection.

The list of people who could play Natasha Romanov— even for two minutes, was pretty damn small. He officially liked this woman. 

She finished with the shoulder and gave the lower, older scars a quick look. "That healed up well. How's the hip treat you?"

"The metal aches in the cold," Nat admitted. "But I have full range of motion."

"I haven't seen her limp in years," Clint commented. "Even after significant acrobatics."

Newbury nodded. "The doctor who worked on you, Wulfe, he's one of the best. Though I helped," she added with a smile, turning away. "You've got a slight fever and your shoulder's swollen. I'm prescribing you a mild antibiotic." Nat scowled and the doctor continued in her pediatrician voice. "You can either agree to take it or I can have JARVIS put it in the water of your apartment."

"She'll take it," Clint said. "I don't need to be drinking antibiotics when I brush my teeth."

"No comment," Newbury said lightly. She filled out something, tore a prescription off a pad and handed it to Clint. "We'll have a dispensary here soon, but we're not stocked, yet. You'll have to run down to CVS."

"Got it," he said, and tucked the prescription into the pocket of his jeans.

Nat endured the rest of her physical, then they all filed out to the main room so they could take their vision tests. He was a little amused at how many times the doc had him back up.

When he had read the bottom line from the opposite wall she shook her head and made a note on her papers. "By my criteria you qualify for RG. But if you don't want to be on that list I can ignore it. I'm not a fan of registration."

He shrugged. "I guess Coulson's in charge of the list now. He knows where I am."

"Maybe he'll assign me to watch you," Nat piped up as lined up for her vision exam.

Nat's sight was slightly under perfect, which Dr. Newbury attributed to age. "If you have trouble focusing on small print or seeing in dim light let me know, but you're a long way from needing glasses." She put her clipboard on her desk and added brightly, "And you're both done." She bent, opened a drawer in her desk and put a mason jar on the desk. "Help yourself to a lolly."

There were genuine lollypops in there. Nat grinned and took two. "He won't eat it."

"I can't deny that."

"I won't hold that against you." The doctor smiled in a way that softened her features and said very sincerely, "It's good to see you both. I'm glad you're here." The 'and not Hydra or dead,' was implied.

He watched Nat bite off a piece of her lollypop. She did love her sugar. He smiled and looked back at the doctor. "Us too."

She gave a sharp little nod that reminded him of the one Nat gave when the conversation was overwhelming her emotionally. That was probably their cue to head out. 

Nat sucked on her lollypop as they walked to the elevator. "Hill has a good eye for personnel. And I'm not just saying that because this is caramel and delicious."

"You have to be able to handle personalities to put up with this crowd."

"That is true. If there's a doctor on the planet who can make Stark get a check-up it's Newbury. Her file is fascinating." Nat used to read SHIELD files for fun, he shouldn't be surprised she knew things about random people.

Of course, now all of SHIELD files were in the internet. "Did you really have to dump all the HR files?"

She looked over at him, rolling the lollypop around in her mouth. "We were in a time crunch, I didn't have time to finesse. And we didn't know where the line between mundane and useful was. Was better to blow it all."

"I was just thinking, somebody's going to sift through in incident reports and personnel files and eventually figure out I was kind of partially responsible for New York."

Nat hit the elevator button and sucked on her lolly with extreme prejudice. "I may have had time for a small amount of finesse."

He blinked in surprise. "You did?"

"I deleted you," she said quietly. "Quick find and replace."

He stared at her for a long moment. "You had a chance to hide something and you gave it to me? You didn't do anything to your file."

She was very determinedly not looking at him, instead staring at the doors as if willing them to open. "I know who I am. If anyone comes at me for my sins I'll have earned it. I'll fight them, but I'll have earned it. People wouldn't understand the brainwashed and crazy thing. They'd come after you because people need a villain and the real one is untouchable. You might not believe it, but you don't deserve anyone coming after you. So I made sure no one would."

The elevator pinged, and opened on a floor below theirs. He didn't even look, just barked, "Get the next one," over his shoulder, and hit the door close button. When they finally closed, he stepped in front of her, close enough he could reach out and tip up her chin. "Sometimes I don't know why you had the crazy idea you don't know how to love someone."

Her mouth worked a little. He could see her warring between not wanting to have a conversation like this and her promise to try not to hide from them. The latter must have won, because she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his waist. pillowing her head in his chest. "I wasn't sure if I'd make it out. Always figured my last act would be saving your ass. Seemed fitting."

He kissed the top of her head. "These days I'm convinced we're going to die of drowning while fighting over why the other one should take the last lifejacket."

"Two martyrs should not be in a serious relationship," she agreed.

"If you hadn't made it," he said quietly, "I don't think I would have cared what happened to me after that."

Her arms tightened a little. "Don't say that."

Behind him, the elevator opened on their floor. Part of him wanted to lift her up and carry her to their—her—door, but who knew who'd be in the doorway. He stepped back, but didn't entirely let her go. 

She went with him, moving like dancers, with the easy grace of two people who had known and moved with each other a long time. Next year would be a decade since he'd seen her in Baghdad. Since he'd put his bow down and offered her a different path. Ten years of partnership, in a variety of ways.

The hallway was empty and her door only a few steps away. She released him just long enough to touch the knob and push the door open.

They went inside, and he closed it behind them. "I certainly wouldn't have had a reason to come home."

"You could have stayed in the Outback and become a wild man," she said, but her humor didn't reach her eyes. "I'd be pretty lost if something happened to you," she admitted quietly. "There's no Romanov without Barton."

He reached out, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I'm impressed how well you held up the last time."

"I had a goal. Get you back, get you better." She swallowed hard. "If that hadn't been an option. . . I don't like thinking about it. It's too big. Like there's nothing on the other side of it."

"There isn't. I spend a whole day walking through the desert, and then a whole night waiting, just thinking about that. On the other side, it's just. . . empty."

A few years ago saying something like that would have sent her retreating behind her walls. Now, however, she just smiled a little. "Guess we're stuck with each other." Then she tugged him down for a caramel flavored kiss.

This time he did pick her up, because they were home and they were alone and he wanted to. Though he only got her as far as the living room rug before he put her back down so he could kiss her better. "Why are we still like this?" he murmured.

"You mean the insatiable need for sex?" she asked, tugging her shirt off to reveal that wonderful, worth-every-penny lingerie.

"It has been seven years."

She lifted his shirt and he raised his arms so she could pull it all the way off. "I used to think this was just how people were. Or at least how you were and I had a high enough sex drive to keep up with you." Nuzzling at his shoulder, she slid her arms around him again. "I assume that's not the case?"

"Usually the steam runs out a little. You get used to each other and lose the desperation." He undid the back hooks of her bra. "You don't feel compelled to do it twice before lunch anymore."

The bra slipped down her arms and dropped to the floor. "How boring." She wound her arms around his neck, kissing him again. "I hope we never get like that. I love how desperate you make me feel."

He cupped her ass and pulled her against him. "We were apart so much."

She sucked in a breath, obviously aware of the erection pressing into her stomach. "It was the only way I knew how to show you what I felt." The confession was soft and she sounded half surprised, as if she was only realizing the truth of it herself. "Even from the beginning I felt more than I had words for."

"I know," he replied, dipping his head to kiss her throat and the top of her shoulder. "I remember Monte Carlo. And Bangkok. And London."

Her hands worked on his fly, nudging his jeans down enough for his cock to spring free. Then she unzipped and pushed her own denims down. They'd barely made it a dozen steps into the apartment. There was no way they were going to make it out of the living room. "Words are always going to be hard for me," she said, curling her hand around his cock and stroking. "I think I may always need this to tell you things."

He groaned at her touch, and he didn't think he'd ever get enough of it. "I think I can live with that."

She murmured his name and kissed him affectionately. Then to his surprise, because he hardly needed more foreplay, she sank to her knees and took him in her mouth.

He dug his hand into her hair and gave it a little tug. To his surprise, that made her moan a little a suck harder. He filed that away for a time when he didn't need all his brainpower just to keep his knees from buckling.

He stroked and played with her hair, keeping his self control tightly leashed. Eventually, he realized that while one of her hands was wrapped around his thigh, the other was buried between her legs, obviously teasing herself as she worked on him. That was too much for him to stand and he gave her hair another sharp tug. This one took her by surprise and she pulled away, losing her balance and sprawling back on her ass. She looked up at him with a surprised little pout, eyes dark. He didn't know how she grew sexier every time he saw her, but she did.

He sank down onto his knees on the carpet. She still had her white lacy underwear on. "You should take that off before I rip it." It came out far harsher than he expected, less joking request and more order. But he really did want to just yank it off her.

Her breath stuttered a bit, in a way it usually did only when he was touching her somewhere interesting. For a moment she seemed to be considering it. Then she slowly hooked her thumbs in the waistband and started to slide them down, arching her hips to get them over her ass. She watched his face the entire time she dragged them down her legs. When they were off she pressed them into his hand like an offering.

He grinned and reached to cup her sex, not surprised to find her soaked. He leaned over her to kiss one breast. "You're going to get rug burn," he told her. She moaned a little, and he found himself adding, "I promise."

She leaned back, bracing herself on her elbows, and pressed against his hand. "Please," she whispered. Then she added, in a very unlike her tone, "Please fuck me." Nat was not generally one for begging. He'd tease her, of course. But her pleases generally sounded more like threats than pleas. This one sounded like there might be a chance he'd deny her.

He pulled her a closer, until he could very slowly push into her slick heat. She made a sound of pleasure and squeezed around him, and he had to stay still for a moment because it was almost too much. Then he pressed her back onto the carpet. He caught her wrists and pressed them up over her head, pinning her beneath him.

There was that little breath stutter again. She looked at him like she wanted to eat him alive, with as much desperation as they'd ever had. Her hands fisted, but she didn't fight his grip, just lifted her hips when he thrust again.

It was hard enough she probably was going to have rug burn, and he should slow down. But he couldn't, and she kept lifting up to meet him, urging him on. 

She did start to fight a little as she got close, arms tensing against his weight. He could have let her move but he found himself pressing harder, pinning her. It was the right answer, because a few moments later she gave a cry that was as much surprise as it was pleasure and then she was coming around him, hips jerking erratically with the force of it.

It was only a few more thrusts before he followed her over the edge, letting it blind him for a moment. She was still making quiet sounds of pleasure as she shook a little with aftershocks. Slowly he released her hands, hoping he hadn't hurt her shoulder. He wasn't entirely sure what had come over him. 

For a moment she didn't move, obviously still dazed. He could feel her still clenching around him. When she did stir it was only to wrap her arms around him and draw him close. She pressed her face into his shoulder and murmured his name.

He rolled them so he wasn't pressing her into to the rug. "Are you all right?" he whispered. "That was rougher than I expected."

Her arms tightened. "I'm all right. I'm wonderful." She kissed his shoulder, then his jaw. "If you apologize I will hurt you."

"Did I hurt you?" he asked. He heard her make an exasperated sigh, and he hesitantly added, "More than you wanted me to?"

That got a smile. "No. You hurt me just the right amount." She kissed his jaw again and this time he felt teeth. "Next time you could go farther."

He inhaled sharply. "You have my attention."

She shifted and straddled him, sitting up a little. He was in no shape to go for a second round just yet, but the view was excellent. "I think we should find some sort of tie or cuffs, so you can use your hands," she informed him.

He tucked his hands behind his head. "We should have a safe word."

Her eyes lit up and she nodded eagerly. "Agreed." She bent forward, bracing her forearms on either side of his head and gave him a slow, wet, sensual kiss that shot right through him. "You need to stop being so gentle with me," she murmured on his mouth.

He sifted his fingers through her hair. "You were trying to wind me up, yes? So I'd lose control?"

She smiled. "Not until you pulled my hair. I was just trying to be nice, before that. And tasting you turns me on."

He couldn't stop from giving it another light tug. "You could have asked."

She shrugged and looked oddly shy. "I didn't know how, at first. And I wasn't sure how much was actually what I wanted and how much was. . . a reaction to what I used to be. And I thought it might be too much. So much of our sex was fueled by adrenaline and the risk of being caught. I thought maybe that was enough excitement for one relationship."

"We thrive on excitement. And that was. . . really hot."

"Yes it was." She traced the line of his cheekbone, then his jaw. "You remember London? I told you I wanted you to mark me."

He grinned back. "I remember."

"I was sore the next day and every time a muscle twinged I thought of you and had this weird blend of arousal and fondness. Looking back, I think that's when I started falling in love. I just didn't want to use the word yet." She kissed him again. "I'm looking forward to getting wet every time my rug burn itches."

That made him groan. "And now I'm going to keep thinking about that."

"It's a beautiful cycle." She wiggled, resettling on him. "What else should we try? Blindfold?"

"Maybe on you. I find the view half the fun."

Face thoughtful, she looked off in the distance a moment. "Blindfolded. Tied up. You doing whatever you liked to me." She grinned and looked back at him. "Want to go find a sex shop?"

"That's what the internet is for." He kissed her. "I do, however, need to go to the pharmacy and get your prescription filled."

That earned him a disgruntled noise, but she didn't try to argue that she didn't really need it, which he considered progress. "While you do you should try to figure out if you have any unexplored kinks I can indulge for you. I do a fascinating little trick with ice and peppermint tea."

He actually thought about that for a moment. "Think up a safe word," he said slowly. "And don't plan it like an op." She tilted her head and frowned at him. "You like to control everything. You're not controlling this. One day I'm just going to tie you to the bed. You won't know when." That was, he thought, what she'd been trying to tell him with the sex. That she trusted him completely, and she wanted to surrender control.

The order seemed to surprise and turn her on in equal measure. She kissed him gently and sat up again, shifting off him so he could get up. "I will think of a word. And I'll do some online shopping while you're out?" He liked that the last part was a question, like she was already offering up a little control.

"Get sturdy ties, I've seen you get out of all sorts of things."

"Yes, dear." She arched a brow. "Maybe a couple surprises? For you to use at your discretion?"

He leaned over to kiss her, and then stood. He hadn't actually even gotten his jeans off. "I leave that to you. Don't get anything you'd be embarrassed if the cleaning lady found it."

She tossed off a little salute and looked around, presumably for her clothes.

He found his shirt and put it back on. He discovered her underwear in the back pocket of his jeans—he didn't really remember putting it there, but apparently he had— and held it out to her.

"Ah." She took them and slid them on. "That was rather intense," she murmured. Her eyes lit up and she stretched to grab her bra from behind him.

"Hey Nat," he said quietly.

She paused with the bra still halfway up her arms. "What's wrong?"

He smiled. "Nothing's wrong. I was just going to say I think London's when I started to fall in love with you, too."

Her face softened and she got to her feet. She stretched up and kissed him lightly. "For that, I will take my antibiotics with only a little grumbling."

"I'd hate to have to hide them in your food."

"That was an awkward time for us both." She finished with her bra and bent to retrieve her pants. "Though if you brought back some pudding for me to take it with it might decrease the grumbling even more."

"Pudding. Got it. Maybe I'll even find some of those awful fruit cups."

"Don't mock my fruit cups."

He kissed her. "Be back in a bit."

"I'll wait right here," she told him. "On my laptop. Browsing."


	8. Chapter 8

_Tokyo, 2010_

It had been a very long time since an op had gone this sideways. It wasn't totally blown, Yamamoto hadn't actually seen her face. But his goons were definitely on her tail and if she didn't do something about that soon she would be blown.

Tokyo was overpopulated and claustrophobic, but even the most populous cities had dead zones. Places no one went, places you could hide. Nat didn't want to hide. But she wanted them to _think_ she was hiding. She ducked down a narrow alley, heading for an old warehouse she'd staked out earlier. As she ran she whistled low but didn't get a response. She told herself it didn't mean anything. Clint was up there somewhere. He'd have her back when it mattered.

There was a crunch of footsteps behind her, and when she turned two of them were sprinting down the alley after her.

She picked up the pace, spilling out of the alley and crossing the street to the factory. A gunshot echoed behind her and a bullet struck sparks on the wall to her right. She dodged and reached one of the boarded up windows and yanked on the wood, climbing through, chased by more gun fire.

Once inside, she slowed down, slipped into the shadows, using the discarded pallets and crates as cover.

They'd seen her, apparently, and it didn't take them long to find a door to break down. She was out of stingers and didn't have a gun. The most dangerous jobs were the ones she had to do in skimpy clothing. And she had no idea where Clint was, other than he probably couldn't see her now that she was inside. Fuck.

Her Japanese was a little rusty, but she heard enough to know the goons had split up. Finally, something going right. She listened to their footsteps and kept to the wall, keeping to the shadows as she stalked the one who'd gone right. _He_ had a very nice gun that he was waving around confidently. She intended to make it hers as soon as they were out of visual from the other one.

There were vanishingly few people who could sneak up on her. Clint could do it. But the hand that fell on her shoulder wasn't his, and before she could even process it, she found herself in a fight with a man twice her size and somehow just as fast.

She blocked a punch with her forearm and aimed a foot at his knee cap. She'd kicked off her little heels before her sprint through the streets, but she could still break bones with her bare feet. Unless, of course, the bones belonged to a man that was part bear.

His flinched when her foot connected, which was nice, but didn't stop him from striking at her again. He caught her in the ribs and sent her flying into the crates next to them. She leapt back to her feet and tried to block again, but this time he wrapped his meaty palm around her wrist and twisted. She heard the crunch of a bone breaking and bit down on a shriek.

He twisted her broken arm behind her, and the pain was so overwhelming she couldn’t fight back. He whipped out a knife and held it under her chin. "Who are you?" he growled at her in Japanese.

She sucked air in and out of her nose a few times, teeth grit. "Go fuck yourself," she replied.

He bared his teeth back at her, and she tried to gather her wits well enough to kick him in the nuts. He shouldn't get to enjoy killing her. Time slowed down when you thought you were going to die. Nothing flashed before her eyes, but she was aware of the absolute silence. The other enforcers were not rushing over to witness or assist. The warehouse was unnaturally quiet. So quiet she caught a distinct sound somewhere behind her, a quick rush of air, almost a whistle. The sound of an arrow clearing Clint's bow.

Said arrow appeared jutting out of her new friend's neck. The hand gripping her arm loosened and the knife hit the ground. He fell away from her and she crawled away from him, sucking air like she was drowning. "Fuck," she whispered. She rolled on to her back and hugged her broken arm to her chest. "Holy shit. Fuck."

Clint appeared beside her, and she heard the clatter of his bow hitting the ground. Which meant they were safe and the rest of them were dead. He wouldn't put it down otherwise. She felt him very quickly check her neck, looking to see if he'd cut her. "Anything else?"

"Just my arm," she grit out. The toss into the crates had sucked but the worst she had was bruises. Then, despite the fact it was going to hurt like hell, she flung her good arm around his neck and hugged him.

He hugged her back, just holding her for a moment. "I gotcha," he whispered. "Sorry I was slow."

"You were fine," she told him. "You were right on time."

He slung his bow over his shoulder, and then tucked his arm under her knees and stood. "That was closer than I was comfortable with." 

Once up on a time, she might have protested that she was fully capable of walking. But right now she was perfectly content to let him carry her. "It was kind of knight-in-shining-armorish."

She rested her head on his chest, and could hear his heart pounding. "I'm sure this is helping."

"Very much. I'm sure in a different life I would have had girlish fantasies about this sort of thing."

He carried her through the door and into the alley. "Not this life? I was hoping there might be a reward fuck in this for me."

He had to turn her a little to fit in the alley and it jostled her arm. She bit down on any reaction so he wouldn't worry. "Honey, you are getting such a reward fuck for this. If I'm not up for the full fuck tonight I promise a reward blow job at minimum."

He made a stern noise. "Not _tonight_. Your arm is broken." He stopped at the curb, and a black SUV pulled up. Clearly, he'd called for help.

"But if it's not tonight how do we know is't a reward fuck and not just one of our everyday fucks?" she asked innocently, just before the back door of the Lexus opened.

He helped her inside, and there was a medic there to check her arm. He sat across from her, and debriefed whomever was in the passenger seat up front. The had witnesses, now, so she was Romanov again.

The medic had some newfangled scanner that apparently worked like a portable x-ray. Nat was going to question the safety standards but saw the Stark logo on the thing and decided not to bother. Stark was a lot of things, sloppy in his engineering designs was not one of them. The scanner revealed a clean, if painful, break and the medic fitted her with a splint that would last until they got somewhere with proper equipment.

With the splint on the pain went from and eight to more like a four, but she still took the painkillers the medic offered. Clint didn't even have to turn around and glare.

They made her sleepy, and she let him negotiate with whomever about going up to the US military base to get it casted in the morning, or waiting for their pickup to take them to a SHIELD medical facility. She didn't pay attention to which option won. She didn't really care, and they'd arrived at their hotel.

People were opening doors, so she assumed that meant they were getting out here, to regroup if nothing else. She slid out of the car and had to grip the doorframe to keep herself steady. The pain killer plus the adrenaline crash was making her decidedly woozy.

He slid an arm around her shoulder, and dipped his head to whisper, "Just make it to the elevator."

She gave a slight nod and fought off the lightheadedness. She was Natasha fucking Romanov and she was not going to be carried across a hotel lobby like a damsel in distress. Even if that did sound like the best idea ever.

Pretending Clint wasn't even there helped and she stepped away from the car, walking into the hotel with far more confidence than she felt. Despite the sling the medic had fitted her with she used her good arm to hold the bad one in place. It felt safer that way.

She could feel him hovering behind her, so if she fainted at least she wouldn't hit the floor. God knows what they looked like, her in a minidress and him in his tac gear. She assumed he put his bow and quiver back in their case, since they were pretty conspicuous. Then, finally, they were in the elevator and alone.

The doors closed with a faint chime and she reached for him, just about at the limit of her endurance. He scooped her up without a word and she pressed her face into the crook of his neck, taking a deep breath of his scent. It was instantly calming, on some soft of primal level. The nastiest predator in the building was cradling her like a child. Despite the drugged wooziness and the still nagging twinges of pain she felt utterly safe. "I hate drugs," she muttered.

"You'd hate the pain worse." He moved very slowly to hit the button for their floor. They often booked adjoining rooms, claiming it was for work reasons, so they could confer without being seen in the hallway. 

She sighed into his skin. "You still think I don't want to take them because I'm macho. S'not it."

"Why, then?"

"They gave us drugs. In the Red Room. To make us feel this way. Confused." The elevator moving caused her head to spin and she tightened her arms on his shoulders which made him hold her closer. "Then they'd tell us lies to make us behave. I don't like to feel like this."

"I didn't know that. I'm sorry."

"S'okay. I didn't tell you." The doors opened with another merry little chime. Everything in Tokyo chimed, even the toilets played little tunes. It was charming and creepy at the same time. Clint carried her down the hall to his room, shifting her so he could dig out his key. God knew where hers had ended up.

He set her down on his bed. "It would probably be the least painful if I cut you out of this dress. But I understand if that makes you uncomfortable."

Every bit of her wanted to lay down, but cutting a semi conscious woman out of a dress while she lolled on a hotel bed was probably a line Clint didn't want to cross. She beat back at the fog and looked up at him. "It's all right. I trust you. Wish I was sober enough to enjoy it," she added.

"I'll file that for later," he muttered. He pulled out his knife, which was as wicked as the one that man had held to her throat. But she did trust him absolutely. He was perhaps the only person alive she could say that about.

Still, she stayed as motionless as possible as he set the blade to the hem of her dress and started to slice. She was surprised at the rather sharp spike of arousal watching him cut the dress caused. Maybe the reward fuck could include clothing destruction.

He looked very serious about his task, and quickly got it off her. His fingers hovered over her bra for a moment. "It looks expensive."

She sighed. "It is." Save for a handful of emergency clothes purchases while on missions she hadn't worn anything not from La Perla or an equivalent in years. Since they'd started sleeping together, at least. "It's old, though." she offered. There was no non-painful way to take it off without the knife. And suddenly, even dopey on pain meds, she _really_ wanted to watch him cut if off.

He studied it for a moment, and then cut the straps. He unhooked the back and peeled it off. "You can probably fix it." Then he peeled back the sheets so he could tuck her into bed.

Trying to scoot back on the bed was hard and she was clumsy enough that he helped her, rough hands against her naked skin. She made a little frustrated noise as he pulled the sheets around her. "Such a reward fuck," she murmured, then caught his hand to give it a squeeze. "Thank you."

His eyes searched her face, and then he said, "That scared the hell out of me."

She gave him another squeeze. "I'm sorry. I should have stayed in the open. Seemed like a good strategy at the time."

"The scene would have been much messier in the street." He leaned over to kiss her forehead. "Sleep. I'll be here."

She sighed and turned her head into the pillow. " _Spokoynoy nochi, moy yastreb."_

She could hear the smile in his voice when he murmured, "I really need to learn some Russian."

Her enthusiastic agreement probably happened only in her head.

She woke up a few hours later. The room was dark, and her arm ached. She looked at the nightstand and it held a glass of water and two white pills. She could see light under the door that adjoined their rooms, and hear TV faintly from the other room.

After and honest self assessment, she decided her pain meds could wait until she checked in with Clint and slowly got out of bed. She was in nothing but her underpants and while she generally wasn't self conscious about nudity, she was a little cold and her scars still bothered her to look at.

A search of her luggage unearthed a button up plaid shirt. She worked her good arm through the sleeve, tucked the other side on her shoulder and tapped lightly on the connecting door before opening it.

He was sitting on the bed in pajama pants, drinking a beer and watching something or other on TV. It looked like some sort of war-related documentary. Tanks on black and white film. 

"Hey," he said with a smile. She wonder if she would ever, at some point, get tired of looking at him shirtless.

"Just wanted to say hi for a bit before I lost consciousness again." She padded over to the bed and eased down next to him.

"How are you feeling? And do you need help with the shirt?"

"I feel a lot better than I did when I fell asleep. And yeah, I could use some help." She shrugged her shoulder a little, making the shirt slide down.

He frowned at it a moment, then pulled it off the shoulder of the broken arm and gently pulled it underneath the sling, so he could button it over her breasts. Then he wrapped the sleeve over her shoulder like a strap and tucked that in. It was now a rather strange one-armed shirt, but it worked.

The tenderness with which he did it stirred some of those dusty strings inside her. He seemed so rough edged and tough at first blush. But with her he acted like she was made of glass. Like she was something rare and precious to be protected.

She scooted a little closer, resting her head on his shoulder. "Thank you."

"You did have kind of a rough day," he said, pressing a quick kiss into her hair.

"I really did." She watched the documentary a moment. A historian was discussing the actions of the SSR in routing out Hydra cells. A picture of Peggy Carter flashed on screen. "I am not looking forward to two months of admin duties again."

"I don't think it'll be as bad as last time."

"No, I know. But they said around six weeks in the cast, plus some time for PT and strengthening it back up." She turned her face into his chest, breathing in his scent. "Maybe I'll take a proper vacation. Lay on a beach in Hawaii."

"Will there be a tiny bikini involved?"

She resisted touching or looking at the still red scar on her stomach. "Maybe."

"Perhaps an extremely low-cut one piece?"

Of course he understood. She stroked her hand over his chest. "I don't know. Will there be someone there I want looking?"

"Is that breaking the rules?"

They had been bending the hell out of those rules lately. And, yes, him following her on vacation probably broke them quite soundly. But she really didn't want to go without him. "I'll be on vacations. Rules don't apply."

"I do have some PTO saved up." She knew that was probably an understatement. His leave during her last recovery had been billed as a suspension because he stole the plane, and hers had been medical. Other than that, she struggled to think when he'd taken a day off. Neither of them had, in all the time they'd been working together.

She could probably take medical this time, but she'd happily blow some PTO to be sure she was totally unbotherable. "Are you all right with Hawaii?"

"As long as at some point we can go see the lava."

"I have no problem with that."

"I'm not going to wear a flowered shirt. Just so we're clear."

She stroked his skin again. "I will handle the flowered clothing wearing duties."

"I suppose we can't ask travel to make the arrangements."

"Probably ill advised. We should make a faint stab a subtlety."

He was quiet a moment. "I've never made my own travel arrangements."

With as much sincere concern as she could muster, she curled her hand around his and looked at him. "Would you like to do it together?"

He grinned, and squinted at her. "I sense mocking, but you're so very subtle."

"If you give me your personal credit card number I'll do it for you."

"All right," he said after a moment. "Make sure the room has good sight lines."

She pecked his cheek. "Of course."


	9. Chapter 9

_New York, 2014_

A few weeks later, Clint found a neatly wrapped box on his side of the bed—in 'her' room, though his still hadn't acquired bedding—labeled with the word ‘pineapple' in English and Russian. The Russian included a pronunciation guide, a concession to the fact that she sometimes lost her English. They spent most of the summer experimenting with its contents. Sometimes new things would show up. Sometimes things would vanish, if she hadn't liked it. But its contents were his to make use of. 

The very first night, all those years ago in Monte Carlo, she'd told him how dangerous letting go and giving up control once was for her, and he appreciated the small and ongoing act of trust the entire adventure represented. 

Little by little, both of them began to relax.

The air was starting to chill and the leaves were starting to turn when Stark called him upstairs one afternoon while Nat was out running errands. He was surprised to find Hill and Banner up there, too. From their faces, it looked like he'd just walked into the middle of an argument. Which was just his favorite thing ever.

He looked at the three of them and said, "You know I'm not the one who's good at talking, right? She went out for shampoo."

"Yeah, we aren't quite ready for her, yet," Stark said. "We think she'd take it better from you."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "Take what?"

"Rogers is back," Hill said flatly. "He found the Winter Soldier and brought him back."

"He has a name," Banner said, in a tone that indicated this was part of the argument they'd been having.

"He's here? In the building?" Clint asked.

A series of nods. "Rogers took him to his apartment," Stark said. "JARVIS has orders to tell me and Hill if that changes."

"Is he stable? Does he know who he is?"

"None of us are a psychiatrist," Banner said, glaring at Hill when she opened her mouth. "But he seems stable enough. He doesn't have any specific memories but he seems to recall having some sort of bond with Steve. I don't think he means us any harm-"

"He almost broke Dr. Newbury's arm," Hill snapped.

"He let her go unharmed and allowed her to complete her exam," Banner said quietly. "She was a stranger in a lab coat coming at him, you don't think that might be triggering for someone with his history?"

Clint looked over at Hill. "What do you think we should do with him?" he asked her.

"He's responsible for at least a dozen deaths. He needs to be locked up somewhere. We don't have the Fridge anymore but I'm sure I can find somewhere dark and forgettable to put him."

That didn't surprise him. "Would you have put me in the Fridge after New York?"

Her mouth thinned out a little and while she tried to hold his gaze she ended up looking away. "That wasn't my call to make."

He knew there had to have been a faction that wanted that—no matter what Nat insisted. He didn't know it had gone that high, but it did indicate that Fury really had trusted him, since Hill had long been his right arm. He looked back over at Stark. "You know, Nat's really the best person to size him up."

"We weren't sure she'd be impartial. What with him having shot her twice and all."

It occurred to him that clearly none of them had read her SHEILD file. Well, maybe Hill had. "After a certain amount of brainwashing, you stop becoming a person who actually makes choices. I don't think she'll see him as the shooter. Just the weapon."

Banner gave Hill a very pointed look. Stark ignored them both. Clint wondered which side of the   
argument he'd been on. Stark struck him as someone who believed in second chances. "Should we tell Rogers to expect a visit?"

"Yeah. And I'll talk to her." 

Hill made a disgruntled noise but Banner just said, quietly, "Thank you."

Clint nodded, and turned around and went back to the elevator. He texted Nat. _Come home as soon as you can. There's a thing._

He got no reply, but twenty minutes later she walked into the apartment, looking a little wind blown, a canvas shopping bag hanging off her arm. "What _kind_ of thing?"

"Rogers found Barnes."

She let out a long, slow breath through her nose. Her face had gone blank, so blank he couldn't really read it. After a few breaths, she seemed to snap out of it and very carefully put her bag down. "They're here? He convinced Barnes to come with him?"

"Yes. Apparently there's some dispute as to whether it's safe for him to stay."

"Am I the deciding vote?"

"I told them I thought you would be best qualified to assess his. . . suitability? Sanity? I don't know. You certainly know better than anyone about Russian brainwashing techniques."

That actually made her smile. "Who knows? Maybe we crossed paths in the red room sometime." She blew out another breath and he saw her hand rub at her hip, right where it usually ached. "Okay. Come with me?"

He stood up and went over to her. "If you're not all right with this. . ."

She shook her head. "I need to look him in the eye. No matter where he is on the sanity spectrum right now. He almost killed me once. Almost killed Nick and Steve. But if there's hope for him. . . how can I turn my back? After what happened to me? To you? If I'm the one who decides if he gets a second chance or not then I have to try."

"I'll come with you," he said quietly. "Even if I do kind of want to punch him in the face just once."

"There is a possibility you will get that chance as well." She wrapped her arms around him, squeezing tight. He held her, letting her lean on him, until she stepped back and smoothed her hands over her hair and tugged her shirt in place.

When she regained her composure she gave him a little nod and turned to open the door. He put his hand on the small of her back, a touch of comfort and reassurance.

They walked down the hall to Roger's apartment. He felt her take another deep breath before she knocked on the door. Clint thought he heard the murmur of voices a moment before the door was opened to reveal Steve Rogers, looking all-American as ever, if a little in need of a shave.

Nat grinned and gave the other man a hug. "It's good to see you."

"Hello, Natasha. It's good to see you, too."

She stepped back but Steve kept a gentle hold of her arms. "I hear you had success in your mission." she said quietly.

"The information you gave me was very helpful." 

Rogers had to know why they were there, but Nat voiced it anyway, "They want me to talk to him."

A muscle in Rogers’ jaw twitched. "If he leaves, I leave."

Nat didn't point out that if Barnes left it would be to go somewhere Rogers really couldn't follow. "Let's start with talking to him, first."

Rogers stepped back, and beckoned for them to follow. Barnes was sitting on the couch, reading a book. He looked up when they approached.

He and Nat sized each other up a moment, with an intensity that sent Clint's hackles up. Still, he trusted her to know what she was doing and hung back. "Do you remember me?" she asked finally.

Barnes glanced at Rogers, then back at her. He studied her a moment. "You were with Steve on the bridge. You shot me."

Nat smiled a little. "Yeah. I owed you one."

"I shot you," he said, the words halfway between a statement and a question.

She tugged her shirt up so he could see the scar. "2009, Ukraine. I was protecting a scientist. You ran us off the road and shot through me to kill him. You managed to miss every major organ and blood vessel. A doctor at the time said you were a surgeon with a bullet."

Barnes looked at the scar, then back at her face. "You weren't my mission."

Clint had long gotten used to her scar. But hearing her talk about the incident touched some very old wounds. He made an effort not to make some sort of growling noise.

Nat, at least, seemed interested in Barnes' comment. "Do you have a mission now?"

"No," he said very quietly.

She studied him another moment, then held out her hand. "Natasha Romanov. Welcome to the Tower."

"That's it?" Rogers asked in surprise.

Nat glanced over at him and Clint. "I've been brainwashed and under orders. He's not acting like he's still compromised. He didn't get mad when he said I shot him or when I mentioned him shooting me. He called you Steve, not Rogers. And while he checked me and Clint for weapons he didn't get nervous when I approached him or reach for his own weapon. For someone a few months out of program with no help I think he's fine."

He saw one corner of Barnes' mouth lift in half a smile. "Thanks."

She smiled at him. "I've been where you are. It's a tough road, but you'll be all right. Don't be afraid to make your own decisions and listen to your gut on who to trust."

"I trust Steve," he said after a moment.

"So do I. That's a good place to start."

Rogers put his hand on Nat's arm. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. But I'm being honest. If I didn't think he was safe I'd have said that." She glanced at Clint. "Who's objecting? Hill?"

"How'd you guess?" he asked dryly. He imagined Nat had gotten and earful about letting him loose after his cognitive recalibration.

"She's made her opinions about brainwashing victims clear in the past. Anyone on the team raising a fuss?"

"I haven't seen Thor," Clint said. "Stark was hard to read. Banner is clearly a fan of not judging people based on their worst days."

That made her smile a little. "Well. We can handle Hill." She looked back at Rogers. "I'll go play interference for you. Give me a call if you need anything."

Once they were out in the hallway, Clint commented, "You know, I don’t know if I ever thanked him."

She tucked her arm into his and looked up at him. "Steve?"

"He didn't know either of us particularly well or at all, and he trusted I was okay to come along based on your nod. If I hadn't gotten to fight, to try and help right the wrong I'd been a part of. . ." He shook his head and shrugged, not really wanting to give voice to the rest of the sentence.

Her hand tightened on his arm. "Cell phone video of you rescuing people in that bus was my usual retort to Hill," she agreed. "But, yeah. I was always impressed he decided to trust us enough to bring you along. He has good instincts."

"And a great deal of loyalty." He looked down at her. "What if they had put me in the Fridge?"

"I had no less than three prison break plans for the Fridge." It was said immediately, completely seriously, not in her joking deadpan.

He smiled and opened their door. He didn't know when she'd told JARVIS to give him unlock access to the door—or if Stark had taken it upon himself. "You'd have gone on the run with me?"

"Of course. I had ten grand in cash and three IDs each for us. We'd have been fine."

He pulled her into his arms. "Have I told you I love you today?" he asked quietly.

Her arms wrapped around him, tucking herself under his chin. "You can never tell me enough," she told him.

Clint kissed the top of her head. "Deciding to trust someone we considered an enemy was the best thing I've ever done in my entire life."

He could hear the smile in her voice. "That does seem to be a trend around here. Barnes'll fit right in."

 

*

_Honolulu, 2010_

Most of Clint's experiences with the tropics had been under unpleasant circumstances. Still, considering how nasty the weather had been in DC when he'd left, stepping out of the plane and into the warm, moist air was kind of nice. It wasn't oppressively hot, and the humidity didn't stick the way he expected. It was almost soothing.

Natasha was on a different flight. She'd handled all of the reservations with an adorable secretiveness, making this entire adventure seem like a clandestine rendezvous. Which it was. In no way were they just taking a vacation together.

She'd sent him confirmation info, one for a cheap, crappy hotel that he would only pretend to stay in, for the sake of filing location paperwork with SHIELD. The other was for the car rental. He didn't know why she'd put it in his name—perhaps concern over her arm, that it would be easier for her to take a cab.

It wasn't until he was standing in the rental lot watching them pull around a convertible Corvette that he understood. He thought she was still in the air, but he texted her anyway. _Okay. For this I'll wear a flowered shirt._

He was still adjusting the seat for his legs when his phone buzzed. _Who treats you well?_

_You can book all my vacations from now on._

_You take them what? Once a decade? I think I can handle that._

_Going to hit my hotel to change and shower. Meet for dinner?_

_I already have reservations at the hotel restaurant. I'll meet you in the lobby at six._ There was a pause, then she added, just as he was about to pull out of the rental lot, _Wait'll you see these sight lines._

He smiled as he merged into traffic. There were some wonderfully tall buildings in downtown Waikiki. He imagined if you got high enough, the crowds didn't feel so claustrophobic.

First, however, he had to visit what he realized, upon checking in, had to be the cheapest hotel in Honolulu. Like, if you googled that phrase, this is what you would get. The decor hadn't been updated since at least the 1970's, and there were conspicuous stains on the flowered bedspread. Of course, he had asked for a cheap and crappy hotel. He set his suitcase down and pulled out his phone. _Checked in. You're an overachiever. Though if I get lice or bedbugs, I'm blaming you._

_Do you actually intend to sleep in that place? Even I have limits to what I'll do to maintain cover, Clint._

_Hell no. Shower and change only. Text me the address to the real hotel, please._

She sent him an address that started with a 'K' and had far too many vowels in it. He assumed he'd be able to find it anyway and hopped in the dingy shower. The water pressure was inconsistent but the water was clear and hot.

He shaved, and put on shorts and a t-shirt. He really hadn't been on vacation in a decade. In the spirit of being on vacation, he tucked his boot knife into his shorts, but left his gun in his suitcase. Ten minutes later, just as whomever was in the room next to him started to have a loud argument, he was back out the door.

There were still a couple of hours to kill, of course. He locked his suitcase in the car's trunk and contemplated the steering wheel for a few moments. There had to be a non-ridiculous Hawaiian shirt to be found somewhere, right?

It was easy, while on vacation, to forget that people actually lived where you were vacationing. Clint found not only a Wal-Mart, which was mostly ridiculous Hawaiian shirts, but a proper mall. He wasn't much of a shopper, but the thing was so huge and sprawling he managed to kill a couple hours just wandering around, looking for something semi-decent to wear to dinner. Nat would have warned him if he was supposed to dress up - and would likely not have booked them anywhere he had to - but they were on vacation, she had rented him a Corvette, he felt he owed her a little effort.

He found himself in a small, dark store with a French name that looked like somewhere Nat would shop. The women working there were helpful, if a little giggly, and obviously knew he was both a tourist and out to impress a girl and knew an easy mark when they saw one. He left with more than he should have bought, but it'd last him the whole vacation and Nat would be impressed. They even let him wear new stuff out and spritzed him with some cologne since he was now running out of time to make it to dinner. One of the ladies gave him very specific directions to the street with too many vowels and he was on his way.

The hotel itself was up the beach from central Waikiki, on the other side of a park. It seemed a little out there, but just getting away from the traffic and the crowds made him relax. She really did know him, didn't she? He left the car with a rather eager valet, and left his suitcase with the front desk because he was running late. The lobby itself was so open-air he could smell the ocean from inside it. You could see it from the bar, actually, because the hotel was practically falling into the water. The restaurant looked to sit on the beach itself, beneath an absolutely gigantic tree. 

He order a beer from the bar, and gazed at the view while he waited. She sure had good taste.

The elevator dinged and he glanced over in time to see her step out. She was in a strapless, figure hugging floral dress of greens and blues - the ladies at the French store had told him they were called aloha dresses or shirts. Her hair was loose and curly, but she'd pinned a large white flower behind her left ear.

Most surprising was the lack of big bulky cast. Her left arm was wrapped in what looked like very substantial white spiderweb, letting her skin peek through and giving her almost full range of motion in her hand. If you didn't know it was broken you might have thought it was some sort of elaborate jewelry.

She scanned the lobby and, to his amusement, didn't seem to recognize him at first glance. She did a double take on her second pass, eyes widening in surprise. Then she gave him a thorough once-over that heated his blood.

He grinned at her as she came towards him. She leaned on the bar, and he found himself saying, "Can I buy you a drink?"

She looked over at him and gave him another once over, then smiled. "I don't know. My mama told me never to accept things from strangers."

That made him chuckle. "You're on vacation, aren't you?"

After a rather pointed look down at her dress, she said, "Obvious, huh?"

He pointed at her hair. "It's the flower that gives it away."

She touched it almost self consciously, then smiled and shrugged. "Mai tai. Please."

He raised an eyebrow. Fruity drinks weren't really her style. Nat liked hard liquor. Sometime he thought that harsher the better. Rot gut vodka was the Russian way. But then, maybe she wanted to be someone different tonight. She did have many personas. So he turned to the bartender and ordered her drink.

She thanked him again when he handed it to her, then took a sip. "So," she said when she was done. "What about you? Business or pleasure." She wrinkled her nose. "Does anyone come to Hawaii for business?"

He turned to look at her for a moment. Were they playing a game? If they were, it intrigued him, so he played along. "Vacation. I was hitting my cap at work, and they were going to make me take it. Figured I might as well be somewhere nice. It's cold back home."

"Well, you have excellent taste." She turned to lean her back against the bar, sipping her drink again. "So, forcing you to take a vacation. Workaholic or love your work?"

"Both. It's very necessary, but very stressful. Takes its toll, you know?" Funny how you could be honest if you were being someone else.

"I get that. Anything can exhaust you, not matter how much you like it."

He sipped his beer, studying the side of her face. He loved her profile. "What about you? Do you love your work?"

A crooked little smile curved her mouth. "Most of the time. Coworkers can be a pain in the ass sometimes."

He checked his watch, it was six. But he didn't want to stop whatever it was they were doing. "Don't suppose you'd care to join me for dinner?"

She looked at her own watch, then back at him. "You know, I was supposed to meet a friend, but it looks like she's flaking out on me. I'd love to have dinner with you."

He offered her his arm, and she tucked her hand into his elbow. She smoothly asked the maitre'd for her reservation, and a moment later they were seated at a beachside table. She smiled her working smile at the waiter, a young guy who was looking at her like she was a movie star. She asked him to bring whichever appetizer he thought was best and the guys scampered off like a love sick puppy. God did Clint love watching her work.

"I'm told I cannot leave Hawaii without trying opakapaka," she informed him, opening her menu.

"You seem like a trustworthy person," he commented. "I'll try it."

The waiter brought them a trio of lobster, tuna tartar and scallops and took their orders. They made small talk as they nibbled the appetizer. He found out she was in human resources, had broken her arm in a freak bicycling accident ("That sidewalk had it out for me, I swear") and was planning on going snorkeling in the morning. Watching her carefully craft and hone her persona was fascinating and oddly erotic. She asked him easy, leading questions, helping him keep up the game she knew he wasn't as adept at. The only thing they didn't do was exchange names, as if keeping the anonymity added to the intrigue.

His tale hewed closer to reality, if only because he was a terrible liar. He worked for the government and traveled a lot. He was staying in a cheap hotel that might have been a mistake. One of his coworkers had informed him he needed to consume something called a malasada. Which was actually true, though technically Coulson's instructions had been to feed one to _her_.

She ordered dessert, a gooey chocolate cake he stole a bite of, and they lingered over cups of some of the best coffee he'd ever tasted. When the bill came she quickly charged it to the room, leaving them to contemplate the moon rising over the Pacific and the slowly cooling night air.

Her chair had slowly migrated closer to his and he'd put his hand on her knee where it was exposed by the slit in her dress. The nature of their relationship didn't leave a lot of room for dates or extended foreplay, which is what this had felt like. A long, intricate seduction, a relationship played in different skins.

The air grew cool enough she shivered and hugged her arms to herself. "I bet your motel doesn't have a view like this."

"My motel doesn't have a view of much of anything." He shrugged, looking down at her. "Though I didn't look. I don't care much for that sort of thing." He wondered if she'd enjoy him assigning his persona polar-opposite traits. Because he was finding the experience of a completely different person projecting forth from someone who looked exactly like Natasha quite a turn on. He didn't know if he should feel guilty about that.

Based on the look in her eyes, it seemed to be working on her. She could control a lot of her reactions, but her pupils dilated when she was turned on and no one had control over that. "Too bad," she said on a sigh. "I was totally going to invite you up to my room to check it out."

He let his hand drift beneath he fabric of her skirt. "I'm sure I'd find something worth my attention up there."

She took a deep breath that seemed to shudder a bit. He watched her chew her lip, looking out at the waves, as if she was weighing her options and deciding that to do. Then she gave a little nod and looked back at him. "Come on, then."


	10. Chapter 10

_Hawaii, 2010_

He held her hand, and together they went into the elevator. She hit the button for 9. "I don't normally do this sort of thing," he commented. "Pick up strange women." 

They were still holding hands and he felt her fingers fidget a little, thumb rubbing against the meat of his palm. "Funny, I was going to say the same thing." She smiled up at him. "Must be that Hawaii magic."

"Something in the air." He gave her hand a little tug, pulling her close enough to kiss her, because he just couldn't wait anymore. He swallowed the little sound she made, sliding his arm around her waist. Her left arm lifted to lay flat against his back, holding him to her as he explored her mouth.

The elevator dinged and she leaned away, looking a little dazed. She gave him an almost shy smile before tugging him out of the lift and down the hall. She unlocked the door to the suite and stepped inside. He got glimpse of a spectacular view from corner windows, but she pulled him down for another kiss before he could get distracted by it.

She even kissed differently. It was softer, a little less confident. The kiss of a woman who hadn't been trained in seduction from a too-early age. The kiss of a woman who decided to have a vacation fling with the guy she met in the hotel bar.

They broke to breathe and she gestured behind him and to the left. "Bed- the bed room is over-that way," she stammered against his mouth.

"I got it," he said, scooping her up in his arms to carry her over to the bed. Halfway there he changed his mind and took a detour, carrying her instead over to the couch that sat in the corner of the two expansive windows. He set her down on it, and reached over to open one of the balcony doors.

For an instant he saw Nat in the little knowing smile that crossed her face. Then it was replaced by her persona's more uncertain lust and she reached up to undo the buttons on his shirt. He let her do it, watching her small hands open them one at a time. "I want to be able to see you."

He thought she might have blushed. At the least she glanced down almost demurely before sliding her hands under the now open wings of his shirt and sliding it down his arms. She rose up on her knees to catch his mouth again, now pressed to his bare chest. He tugged her dress up, pausing to pull it over her head as carefully as he could, being mindful of both her arm, and the flower in her hair. He wanted it to stay. 

She was naked underneath the dress, which possibly didn't fit the persona she was playing but wasn't something he was about to quibble about. She leaned back, sitting on the couch, so he could see all of her, perfectly illuminated by the bright moonlight and the distant glow of the city. The small thatch of hair over her sex was already damp. The little sign of how affected she was by their game shot through him like lightning.

After a moment, she let the persona assert itself, and made a motion to cover herself as if she was self-concious. As if she didn't know how gorgeous she looked naked. He knelt down in front of the couch and caught hands. "Don't," he whispered. She bit her lip nervously and damn if it didn't just shoot right through him.

"I'm sorry," she said, sounding shy. "It's just. . . it's been a while."

He touched her cast. "I'll be careful. But you really are beautiful." He leaned in to press a kiss into the skin over her collarbone. "Tell me if I do anything you don't like." Nat would give him graphic instructions. He didn't think this woman would.

Her breathing changed, grew quick and excited. "Okay- okay," she whispered, touching his face with her good hand before sliding it back into his hair. "You smell _really good_ ," she added.

"The ladies in the mall sprayed me with something." Something he'd never worn before, which meant to her he smelled different. Undoubtedly helping their little game. He took his sweet time exploring her, like he didn't know every inch, like he didn't have all her spots memorized. After all these years, he could play her like a fiddle if he wanted to—and they had plenty of stolen-moment quickies to prove it. Tonight, he pretended he had no idea what her notes were.

She played her part even as her body grew hot and eager under his mouth and hands. Her responses were obvious if not particularly vocal. At least until the little gasp of surprise he got when he tugged her legs over his shoulders and brought his mouth down to her core.

 Even here he feigned ignorance, though not for long, exploring her before zeroing in on her clit. She scrambled for purchase on the couch, gripping the back as he teased her with long, slow strokes. Soon she was moaning wantonly, heels digging into his back to hold him to her. That probably meant the man he was pretending to be had gotten through the walls of the woman she was pretending to be. He lifted his head to look up at her, back arched and stretched out in the moonlight. She opened her eyes because he'd stopped, so he stroked her clit with his fingers while he watched her. "Are you close?" he asked, though he knew perfectly well she was.

She nodded, motions jerky. Her chest was heaving, but she managed to whisper, "Yes. God yes."

"Good," he murmured, leaning up to kiss the tip of her breast. He and Nat liked variety, but he was pretty sure was about to surprise her persona. "Turn around, look at the view."

Sure enough, her eyes widened and her lips pursed. He watched her war with herself and decided to cheat a little, stroking his fingers against her again. Her hips lifted instinctively and she chewed on her lip, watching his face. Then she put hand on his chest to nudge him back, giving her enough room to turn. 

She kneeled on the couch, arms braced on the back, giving him a wonderful view of her pale back, glorious hair and truly perfect ass. When he didn't immediately touch her she turned her head to glance back at him, managing to look both nervous and alluring in the same expression. He was in the middle of kicking off his shorts and boxers, trying not to get to distracted by what was in front of him. If they were really two strangers having sex, finding condoms would be in order, but he wasn't taking the game that far. So instead he framed his hands over her hips and pushed into her. She moaned, and he whispered, "That's it, baby."

She made a noise he could only call a whimper as he slowly slid out, almost leaving her, then gasped as he drove in again. "God, yes," she breathed and the little tremble she put in her voice almost undid him right there.

He slid his hands beneath her, one to cup a breast, the other to press against her clit. Not much, just a little, but he felt her shudder. "Come on," he told her. "Push back. Take what you need."

That earned him another moan, as if just his words drove her higher. She rocked back, moving on him, and he felt the ripple of muscle under her skin as she worked. Slow didn't last long and she was soon taking him roughly, the couch creaking a little with her exertion. Nat was rarely silent during sex, generally only when the situation absolutely demanded it, but now she kept up a string of moans and curses and pleas, the siren song of a woman finally letting herself go. He took his cues from her, taking her harder when she seemed to need it. She slid forward a little with the force of it, and then straightened, bracing her hands on the window glass behind the couch. Suddenly everything was tighter, the friction intense.

She felt it, too, giving out a shuddering gasp. He kissed her shoulder, nipping the skin a little. "Come for me, baby, please. Let me feel it."

She gasped and leaned into him. He heard her whisper, "Please, please," but didn't think she was talking to him because an instant later she was coming around him. Her body spasmed, clenching around his cock like a vise. She screamed, heedless of the neighbors or the open balcony door. Her hips moved in almost gentle ripples as she rode it out. He held her hips again, allowing himself a few rapid thrusts he needed. Just as the orgasm slammed into him, she made a rather desperate moan and pulsed around him, like she come a second time.

They ended up sprawled rather awkwardly across the couch, his cock still buried deep inside, her body still clenching lightly against him. When he tried to shift her off she sucked in a sharp breath and swatted at him and he wisely stayed still. His hand wandered over her stomach. "More?"

Muscles twitched under his hand and he could feel it inside as well. "It wouldn't take much," she murmured. "You shattered me."

When he touched her this time, he did it without pretense, without the game. He strummed her exactly as he knew how. 

Her moan was just as helpless as it had been. "Fuck," she hissed. "I can't, I can't." She was still insisting she couldn't as the ripples of a third orgasm fluttered around him. Her whole body seemed to undulate with it. "Fuck," she repeated, sounding almost awed. Then she added, "Bastard," in the tone most people used for sweet endearments.

He kissed her shoulder tenderly, shifting so he didn't fall off this little couch they were laying on. "Hello, Natasha," he whispered.

She twisted her neck so she could look at him. "Hi, Clint. How was your flight?"

*

Dawn woke Nat. Last night they had dragged themselves over to the bed and passed out fairly quickly. As she’d drifted off, she'd had the notion that if she was up first—and she always was—she would reward him with a special wake-up. But she was alone in the bed, and when she sat up she could see him out on the balcony, staring out at the view. 

She dragged the quilt off the end of the bed and wrapped it around herself before thinking better of it and digging in her bag to toss on a proper cover up. It really was a remarkable view. She'd picked the hotel for the restaurant and relative quiet. She'd booked this room for his sight lines.

 "What do you think?" she asked when she joined him on the balcony.

He turned to grin at her. "I think you know me very well. I can see everything." You could—from Diamond Head across all of Honolulu, all the way to the ocean. The skyline had been gorgeous last night, to the small part of her brain that noticed. 

She leaned on the balcony rail, looking out at the very blue ocean. "What do you want to do today?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Other than more of last night?"

They hadn't discussed it, being tired and drained. But it had been something else, on a whole number of levels. She hadn't expected to find creating a persona, turning it on him, and having him do the same would be quite that hot. And the sex itself. . . she was actually a little pleasantly sore.

She leaned on his arm and pressed a little kiss to his shoulder. "We tried having sex 24/7 once. I have a limit." She gestured at the ocean. "We're in paradise we could enjoy something other than each other."

"Did you really want to go snorkeling?"

Goodness, he'd actually been listening. "Not with the arm. I was hoping to hike Diamond Head. And there's a couple of cruises. You wanted to see lava, which requires a hop to one of the other islands. There's museums, Pearl Harbor. A sub tour."

"Coulson ordered me to locate a particular bakery item to feed you. There's a particular place we have to go to get it."

"I can definitely make time for exotic baked goods." She looked over at him. "We could definitely squeeze in more of last night, too."

He grinned. "Are you going to expect three every time now?"

"You're the one who keeps raising the bar, Clint."

"Well," he said, looking out at the water. "I think there was something to be said for the circumstances."

She watched him a moment, then looked at the view as well. "It was very intense," she said finally. "I started it as kind of a joke, since you looked so different. But you went along and it just. . . turned me on more than expected."

"Me too. I've never been sure if I should feel guilty that I find some of your alternate personalities kind of hot. Because I know how you feel about the Widow sometimes."

"The Widow and I get along a bit better these days. I've always been able to. . . ground myself with you. You accept me warts and all, so I know that what I am with you is real. But I enjoy being other people. I'm good at it and it's fun to try out new things. It's how I discovered that underwear you like so much. So if you want to sleep with some of her personas. . . I'm okay with that."

He reached out, wrapping one of her curls around his finger. "Thank you for the car."

"That wasn't just for you. I get to ride around in it, too." 

"What do you say we get some breakfast, and then take a drive?" He paused. "Well, first I need to get my suitcase from the front desk."

"We can probably call down for that," she said. "Room service too." Then she turned to face him, sliding her arms around his waist. "And the drive can wait a little bit. I owe you an orgasm or two."

He dipped his head to kiss her. "I don't keep score."

She briefly considered making a joke about her ledger, but she tried not to take it lightly. He'd tugged her close to kiss her and she enjoyed how warm he was from the sun. They kissed a minute before she could catch her breath enough to say, "Maybe I have a bar to raise."

"I am interested in your ideas and would like to subscribe to your newsletter." He paused. "After breakfast."

"I'll make some calls." She headed back inside, giving his ass a firm smack on the way by.

It was almost noon before they managed to get out of the hotel. She was amused he'd actual purchased several Hawaiian shirts. Nice ones, too, not the cheap tourist ones. They held hands like teenagers on their way out. The Corvette was just as nice as the woman at the rental place had promised. Clint held the door open for her when they got in.

They went for a long, aimless drive around the island. Nat had been all around the world, seen every type of landscape and city. There was a wildness to Hawaii she'd rarely seen. It was easy to remember it was the tip of a volcano, thrust out of the ocean through the violence of eruption. It was green and rocky and breath taking.

They snacked on shrimp at a little shack on the northern coast, then got shave ice from another hole-in-the wall place. Nat got hers root beer flavored with vanilla ice cream on the bottom and it tasted like the best root beer float in the world. 

The shave ice place was on the water and they sat on a cluster of rocks on the beach and watched the waves shape the shore as they ate their dessert.

"This was a really great idea," he told her.

"All my ideas are great," she told him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Though this is one of my better ones. I don't remember the last time I was this relaxed."

"It's been a hell of a year," he said quietly.

It really had. This coming from people who had seen some terrible years. Nat didn't consider herself superstitious by any means, but part of her did feel a bit as if she was waiting for another shoe to drop. Maybe he'd get shot. Or get dysentery. Or cholera. Maybe they'd find out the Greek gods were also super advanced aliens. Maybe they'd be struck by an asteroid.

For right now, she was going to enjoy the taste of ice cream and the smell of salt and tropical flowers and the feel of Clint at her side. "We should get a bottle of whatever they spritzed you with last night."

"There's a giant mall." He paused. "Yes, I went to a mall. You take that to your grave."

Just trying to picture it made her brain freeze up like an overworked hard drive. "Good Lord. I owe you more orgasms."

He laughed, something he didn't do nearly enough, so it was a nice sound. "Are you enjoying your bowl of sugar?"

"I am." She poked it with her spoon. "There is also water in it." That earned her another chuckle and she turned to smile at him.

"You must be on your honeymoon."

Nat and Clint both turned to face the middle aged couple that had strolled up to their clump of rocks. She'd noted them coming a half mile away and had registered them as a non-threat. Now they were smiling at her and Clint beatifically. It was the woman who had spoken, obviously enamored with the picture of young love before her.

Fake engagement ring, that's what she should have packed. 

Nat plastered on a wide, cheerful-but-a-little-embarrassed smile and blushed. "First day. We flew in last night."

"Isn't that nice," the woman replied. "I can always tell."

She settled her hand on Clint's knee. "It was a long time coming, but so worth it." He looked amused, from what she could see of his face.

"Where are y'all from?"

Clint tensed a little, not enough to be visible but enough for her to feel, pressed against him as was. He wasn't a great liar, though not as bad as he claimed to be. When they both needed covers they were given ahead of time and were very well researched and thought out. But this was her wheelhouse and he'd said he liked to watch her to it. So she gave his knee a reassuring squeeze and answered, "DC. What about you?"

"Omaha. This is our first trip here and it's just so lovely."

"Ours, too." That, at least, was the truth. "But I'm already planning on coming back. There's just so much to do."

They made chit-chat about the islands and about their vacations. Eventually the other couple congratulated them again and bid them farewell. As they walked away, Clint murmured, "So, was it a nice wedding?"

Her shave ice was now a puddle of milky blue liquid and she put it carefully on the sand so she could wrap her arms around his. "It was lovely. A couple of little missteps, of course. The DJ missed the cue for my entrance and you stepped on the hem of my gown during the first dance. But all and all, a lovely day."

"Did we have a good wedding night?"

She smiled. "Well, we were both a little tired but you kept making jokes about annulling it without consummating the marriage and we mustered through. Last night in the hotel was better."

He gave her a look. "You and I do not muster through."

"We do not, but Tash and Clint Bartlet from DC have their limits after a nineteen hour day."

"I feel sympathy for them." He shook his head. "I have no idea how you do that."

"I start with the truth and extrapolate. It helps to have some sort of goal or motivation, like on a job. But things just come to me." She smiled. "Maybe I should have been a writer."

He turned and looked at her for a moment. "What would you write?"

It had been mostly a joke, she had no idea if she had it in her to actually write something. Though she supposed she had character creation down pat. "They say write what you know. So, spy thrillers?"

"I'd read it," he replied with a grin. He would, too, even if it was crap.

"There's probably be a lot of sex in it," she said, warming up to the idea. "American spy uncovers a conspiracy in his own country. Ends up teaming up with an ex-KGB agent with questionable loyalties. They fall in bed together by chapter seven."

"Am I the spy or the KGB agent? Or is the book about two versions of you getting on? Because I would _absolutely_ read that."

She laughed. "I think you're the spy. Gruff, loyal, but with his own moral compass. And a weakness for redheads with shady pasts."

"You know you're the only redhead I've ever slept with?"

"I admire you not gawking at my pubic hair. Do you know how many men I've been able to kill because they got distracted at the fact the carpet matched?"

"That other people are unobservant is not my problem. You can tell someone's natural hair color by looking at the rest of their hair. People don't dye their eyebrows."

She had, on occasion. If not proper dye, then brow liner or the like. Most men were oblivious, but other women noticed. "It was useful. But I'm glad to be unique among your conquests."

"You are unique among every woman I've ever met."

Those dusty old strings stirred in her again. She should probably admit that they were no longer really that dusty. And were no longer as far removed from proper love as she liked to pretend. That was too big to think of right now and she had yet to figure out a way to break it into smaller pieces. So she just leaned over and kissed him gently. "Want to go back to the hotel and continue our honeymoon?"

"I think that sounds like an excellent idea."

He picked up her discarded ice bowl, because he was a gentleman like that, and they held hands as they walked off the beach back to the car.


	11. Chapter 11

_Finland, 2014_

It was cold, and it was dark. Clint was pretty immune to cold temperatures, so for him to be bothered by it had to be absolutely arctic. Natasha was sitting next to him, so bundled up you could barely see her face. It was the most unpleasant place in the world for a stakeout. But then, Hydra knew how to hide.

"Will you still love me if I lose toes to frostbite?" she asked, voice muffled but her scarf.

"Yeah, you don't use your toes in bed."

The sound she made might have been a laugh. Then she shifted around, stretching out her left leg. "I hate being cold."

"Think about being somewhere warm." He glanced over at her. "Maybe we should take a vacation."

She bounced a little. "Like Hawaii?"

"Well, yes, but a real one."

He could tell by her eyebrows she was frowning at him. "How was Hawaii not a real vacation?"

"We were sneaking and hiding, using aliases and often actually pretending to be other people."

"That was half the fun!" she protested. "I did some of my best on-the-fly work on that trip."

He thought he spotted motion through the snow, and was still a moment, but it was just some sort of animal. "It was fun. But it wasn't us."

"Guess we're well past the point of hiding anyway," she said. There was a pause as she resettled her scarf around her face. "That first night, though. In the hotel. We could do that again sometime, maybe."

"Pretend so be other people?"

"Yeeees?" It was half hopeful half uncertain.

Clint glanced over at her and smiled. "I'm a terrible actor."

She reached out and patted his shoulder before tucking her arm back against her chest to conserve heat. "You did just fine."

"I do miss your personas, sometimes," he said, a little hesitant to voice that.

Her eyes were unreadable over her scarf. Then the corners crinkled and he knew she was smiling. "Anytime you want to tangle with the Widow, you give me a sign. We'll see if it's as fun with just one of us playing."

Before he could reply, he caught sight of his target. "Hang on, there they are."

Immediately, her posture changed, going intent and watchful. She put her binocs to her eyes and watched the caravan of cars he had spotted. 

"Why oh why does Hydra like the snow?" Clint muttered. Sure made for easy targets. He watched the the cars park, and people get out. Including some he recognized. "Man, is that Patterson? I liked that guy."

"I wonder sometimes about their recruitment process," Nat said, still scanning the scene. "Do you have a thirst for world domination? Are you okay with murder on a genocidal scale? Join Hydra today." She put the binocs down. "Too many to take out from here. I'd better head down."

"Ye of little faith. I can do it. I just need to— aw, come on dude, don't get back in the car. It's not that cold out." Now two of his targets were behind was was likely bullet-proof glass. 

Nat looked a little smug. "Oh good. I get to feel useful." She leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Good hunting."

"I'll wait till you're in position."

"Thanks." She shrugged off the blanket she'd wrapped around her shoulders and slipped off into the woods. In her snow gear she blended into the landscape immediately. He watched her progress as long as he could, then focused on the cars again, waiting for her to reappear.

He always worried about her, just a little, but he also loved to watch her work. Especially when she was less bundled up than at the moment. But it would do. Just the way she moved was the sort of thing that could hold his attention indefinitely.

She slunk up to the occupied car and put her hand on the handle. There she paused, and he took it as his signal to take his first shot. He picked the agent closest to the car and fired. Nat had the door open and was inside before the body hit the ground.

They picked them off, one by one, like a dance. They knew each other's moves so well, they didn't need to talk over the calm. They just got their job done with an efficiency as icy as the weather.

When the last agent was neutralized, he scooped up his rifle and her blanket and headed down the mountain.

Nat had the trunks of the cars open to reveal a decent stash of Hydra tech. "It's like Christmas has come early."

He pulled one case out to open and take a look. His hands were a little numb from having his gloves off so long, and he fumbled pulling it over the lid of the trunk. A box of ammo slid out, landed on his foot, and scattered bullets in every direction. "Dammit."

She peered around the other car at him. "You okay? Did you touch something explodey?"

"No, I just made a mess." And his foot kind of hurt, but he wasn't going to mention that. He heard her calling into base as he crouched to scoop up the bullets.

"I suppose we could just steal the cars," she said. "But it seems a little petty."

"Eh, they're kind of shot up. Is a lift coming?" He wiggled his toes in his boot. They did move, though it hurt. He frowned at his foot. 

"Yeah, ETA's under ten." She came around the car and saw him frowning. "What?"

"Nothing. I'm not digging for bullets in the ice. We work for a billionaire." He stood up, making effort to neither limp not grit his teeth.

She watched him a moment. "Clint. Did you hurt your foot?"

He gave her a look. "It's fine. I just dropped the box on it."

"Oh! I know this game. You say you're fine. Then you grimace and limp for a while. Then I ask you again if you're all right. Then you say you're fine again and I call ahead for medical assistance. Usually we play the other parts, but I'm all for mixing it up a bit."

"We do not need medical assistance. It's just a bruise. I will let Dr. Newbury look at it when we get home, if it still hurts. You can even have my lollipop."

She held her hands up. "Okay, okay. What do I care? You don't use your feet in bed."

He laughed. "I'm not going to use anything in bed if you're going to be mean to me."

"I thought you wanted to see the Widow." She stepped closer, very carefully avoiding his boots, he noticed, and slipped her arms around him. "The Widow," she said, using the soft Russian accent she'd had when he met her. "She is not always kind."

He dipped his head down so the fog of their breaths mingled. "I'm sure there's something in The Box that will help adjust her attitude." The Box has had a lock on it he was fairly certain even Stark couldn't get through. Privacy was important.

Her teeth dug into her lower lip, chewing a little. "She is not so easy to break," she replied. "Though she looks forward to your pitiful attempts." She was doing more cheesy Bond villain than actual Widow persona. But for this kind of tease, that probably worked. He could be James Bond for a night.

He slid his hand under her hood and hat, just so he could pull her hair. "We'll see," was all he said.

Before she could answer, or he could properly appreciate the way her eyes darkened at even that little dominance, they heard the whirl of a quinjet in the distance. She gave him a little peck on the lips, stepping back to greet their extraction team.

He spent the entire flight back home contemplating celebrating their successful mission by opening her box of toys. When they finally approached New York, he got up to take over at the throttle-- flying between the buildings and landing in the Tower made the the backup pilot nervous. This time when he stood, his stupid foot hurt so much his eyes watered. That really was not good.

Nat watched him hobble off the plane and said, with absolutely no judgement in her voice, "Dr. Newbury?"

He sighed heavily. "Apparently."

The infirmary was far tidier than the last time they'd been there. It had acquired a bunch of equipment, as well as a former brainwashed assassin sitting at the lab table, watching a movie on a laptop. Clint couldn't help giving a little double take and Barnes looked almost self conscious as he paused the video.

Doc jumped up immediately when she saw him limping and leaning on Nat. "Come into an exam room. I can send the sergeant out if you prefer-" Clint shook his head, and she pointed him to the closest exam room to the door. She had Nat take his boot and sock off while she grabbed a scanner. His foot was swollen with an awesome purple bruise on top. Yeah. Not good.

"Rate your pain?" Newbury asked as she used the portable x-ray on him.

"The pain scale is way too subjective. If we don't have a mutual agreement on what 10 means, then any number I pick is meaningless."

She looked up at him over the top of her glasses. "If I were a different kind of person this is where I'd poke that bruise and base my assessment on how much you flinch."

"You know, I really do like you," Nat said conversationally, leaning on the exam table next to him.

Newbury straightened and plugged the scanner into her data pad. "Let's try it this way. Advil, Tylenol-3, Percocet, or morphine?"

"Between Tylenol-3 and Percocet. I've never had morphine," he added. "She has, it was funny."

"I thought I was in Milwaukee," Nat said. "No one could convince me otherwise."

"Hallucinations are common," the doctor said, still poking at her data pad. "I thought I was dead and rats were eating my face." She gestured at the scar on her cheek. "My ten, by the way. Congratulations, Barton, your foot is broken."

He looked at his foot, then back at her. "Seriously?"

''’Fraid so." She stood next to him and turned the data pad so he could see his X-ray. "Right across the third and fourth metatarsals." Using the end of a pen she pointed to a thin black line running across two bones. "You're looking at a cast for a few weeks, then a boot and PT for a couple more."

"It was a box of ammo!"

"You could have had the beginning of a stress fracture and the box just did the rest of the job. Or the box just hit you in the worst way possible. When I was doing an ER rotation I had a guy come in with a broken foot after kicking a soccer ball." She stepped away to put the pad down and added, almost like a peace offering, "The good news is you don't need surgery."

He rubbed his forehead. "Some of my dignity may remain intact."

"Doctor patient privilege prevents me from telling anyone how it happened. So what ever story you want to make up is your business. I'll be right back with the cast supplies." She stepped out into the main room, leaving him alone with Nat.

She rubbed his back. "Poor Clint."

"I hope there aren't crutches."

"You keep that hope alive, honey."

He chuckled and looked over at her. "You're one to talk." She's been annoyed at all her various mobility aids during her recovery after being shot.

She stroked a hand through his hair. "And now I get to pay you back for your attentive nursing."

"I'll get you one of those little white outfits with a cap."

"And a short skirt?"

Dr. Newbury came back in with the casting supplies. She put the box down on the table. "Don't mind me."

He felt Nat kiss his head. "Does he have to have crutches?"

Newbury looked up at him. "You don't want crutches? You're biceps with feet, crutches might actually be easier for you than actual walking."

"I also have better balance than anyone you know. If I can put any weight on it, I'll be able to get around, I promise."

"Biceps with feet," Nat muttered. "I like that."

The doctor looked less than amused, but she went to work on wrapping his foot. "Because you seem like a reasonable person, I'll give you what we call a walking cast. Basically the same as a regular cast, but it'll go a bit higher up your leg and have some padding on the bottom. This does not mean you get to walk around like normal. You need to stay off it, keep it elevated. Walking boot means you hobble to the kitchen for a snack and the bathroom to pee, not down to the bodega, got it?"

"Leaving me dependent on this one for food, eh?" He hooked a thumb at Nat.

"Would you like me to assign you one of my techs as a personal nurse?" He didn't miss the smirk she tried to hide.

Or the tiny bit of offense in Nat's voice when she said, "I can take care of him."

Newbury smiled. "That works, too. You two are neighbors, after all."

"Yes, it's very convenient." Nat didn't betray even a hint of humor. "And I know all his favorite take-out foods."

"Try Thai Bangkok," Newbury said. "Their satay is fantastic." She slid a soft, padded slipper onto the bottom of his cast and stepped away, repacking her supplies. "There you go. That'll be on about a month then we can take another scan. I'm sending you home with some industrial strength anti-infammatories, a small bottle of Percocet and a big bottle of Tylenol-3. I suggest saving the Percocet for sleeping. If the pain suddenly gets intense or the foot feels hot or you spike a fever come see me immediately. Even if it's the middle of the night."

He stared morosely at his foot for a moment. "Thanks, Doc."

Newbury made a sympathetic face. "Will a lolly help at all?"

He swung his leg around, and very carefully slid off the table. It didn't hurt as much as it had walking on it before, but that wasn't saying much. He probably should take his painkillers. "Give it to her, she likes them."

Newbury headed out to the main room and he followed her, Nat at his heels. The laptop was still on the table, but Barnes appeared to have made himself scarce.The doctor stored her supply box on a shelf, then went to a cabinet and unlocked it. She pulled out three pill bottles before re-locking the cabinet and heading over to her desk. A few minutes later he left with a print up of care instructions and his pills, Nat at his side, lollypop in her mouth.

"This is not how I hoped tonight would go," he muttered as they got into the elevator.

The corners of her mouth turned down and she tucked herself into his side. "I'm sorry, Clint. Is there anything I can do to make it better?"

He kissed the top of her head. "No, but thank you."

They reached her apartment to find someone had brought their go-bags in from the jet and left them in the foyer. She got him settled on the couch - which he had never been so happy to have brought with them - and brought him a drink to take his first round of meds with. "How about we order some Thai and see what's in JARVIS's digital movie collection?" she asked. He knew he was in a bad way when Nat was trying to be chipper.

"You sure you don't mind doing this?" he asked.

Her face softened and she carefully climbed onto his lap, braced on her knees so he didn't take any weight. "I love you," she said sincerely. "You take excellent care of me, even when I'm not injured. Doing this is absolutely the least I can do." She kissed him. "You're not even on pelvic rest," she teased.

He tucked her hair behind her ear. "Usually I do take care of you. It's a little odd having it flipped."

"Some men would pay a lot of money to have a hot redhead waiting on him hand and foot."

"I think if there was payment involved, then you really would have to wear a little nurse's outfit. Or maybe a french maid costume."

"Only if you're a very good patient." She kissed him again before carefully getting to her feet. "Sit and let the meds kick in. I'm going to call in the order and change into something more comfortable."

*

_Monte Carlo, 2011_

One of the many problems with being a spy was that it didn't exactly line up with national and religious holidays. It was why most in the business didn't bother with families. Always hard to explain why a helicopter was picking Mommy or Daddy up on Christmas Eve.

Still, once in a while, when the wind was fair and the moon was in the seventh house, a spy managed to get Christmas off.

On a truly special day, two got it off at the same time.

Nat always thought casinos were depressing at Christmas time. It was like the desperation got truly depressing. Still, there was a certain opulence to Monte Carlo that took the edge off.

Plus, the weather was nicer on the Riviera. It had taken near voodoo to get a nice hotel room, but Nat hat her ways. She was loitering out on the balcony—with excellent sight lines—when she saw Clint step out of a cab in front of the hotel. She let out a low whistle, and he looked right up at her. 

She wagged her fingers in a wave. "Hey stranger."

He grinned, and then ducked into the building. A few moments later he was knocking on her door. When she opened it, he said, "You know, I was supposed to be in San Francisco today. I think I got on the wrong plane."

"How unfortunate," she said. "Damned careless of you, really."

He closed the door behind him. "Where are you supposed to be?"

"Chechnya."

"How festive." He tugged her closer so he could kiss her. She wrapped her arms around him and sunk against his familiar heat. 

In the last few months they'd been assigned to one inconvenient mission after another. Group missions, separate teams, missions at crowded bases or at home. They had had no time alone in what felt like ages. It was so nice to be be back in his arms. He turned them, pressing her against the door. "I missed you," he murmured. "Missed this."

She buried her hands in his hair. "I missed you, too. So much."

He kissed down her neck, his hands already under her shirt. "Did you want dinner?"

"Maybe later." She wrapped her legs around his waist, hitching herself closer.

"Good." He pushed her shirt up, and then her bra, yanking them off a little roughly. Nat leaned her weight on the door so she could grab fistfuls of his shirt and yank it up and off.

"I had this thought we'd make it to the tub," she said. "I see I was optimistic."

He leaned back and grinned at her. "I am not so desperate I can't wait for a tub to fill."

She wiggled against him. "There are jets."

He stepped back from the door, not putting her down. "Those mostly benefit you, you know." But he was now carrying her towards the bathroom.

"I'm pretty sure what benefits me also benefits you." They stepped into the rather opulent bathroom and she used her toes to turn the lights on, revealing the two person, jetted tub and separate shower. She'd bought some expensive soaps for a bubble bath later.

He kissed her thoroughly before setting her down. "Don't make the water too hot."

"Yes, dear." She bent over to turn the faucets on, dialing it in to a pleasantly warm. When she straightened, she started working on her pants. He came up behind her, putting his hands over hers and helping her with the buttons. She leaned back into his chest, letting her hands drop as he finished the fly and slid his hands into the denim to shove them down. He supported her as she stepped out of the pants, leaving he naked in his arms. Gently his fingers traced the edges of her scar. It wasn't red and angry anymore, and she'd mostly gotten used to looking at it. The skin was a little numb, and his touch almost tickled.

It made her wiggle and she felt his chuckle rumble through his chest. She tipped her head back to kiss his jaw, arching so he could see the length of her body. He cupped her breasts and murmured, "I will never get tired of looking at you."

Oh how she'd missed those callused hands on her skin. She kissed him again, feeling her nipples peak at his strokes. The bath was just about full so she leaned over to turn the water off. He traced a finger down her spine and she shivered. 

From the floor, her phone began to ring. 

Scowling, she shifted to see the screen and confirm it was work. It was almost certainly orders. Or someone wanting to know why the hell she wasn't in Chechnya. It was Christmas and she was naked. She was going to ignore it. 

Like he read her mind, Clint leaned down and picked up both her clothes and the phone, and hurl them out of the bathroom. She laughed and turned, curling a hand behind his neck to tug him in for a kiss. "What ringing sound?"

"Hell if I know. Get in the water." As he said it, she heard the sound of his phone vibrating in his back pocket.

They were probably going to be in a lot of trouble when they surfaced. She decided that was a problem for future Natasha and let him go to climb into the tub. She punched the button for the jets and leaned back against the wall. He didn't even look at his vibrating phone, and when he kicked off his shoes and took off his belt and jeans, he tossed the whole mess out the door like he had with hers. She laughed as he climbed into the tub.

She moved easily through the water to tuck into his lap, giving him a hot, wet kiss. He plunged his fingers into her hair. "Screw them, it's Christmas."

"They owe us backlog presents," she agreed, leaning in to the tug of his fingers.

"All I really want is this," he replied, his voice sounding more serious than she imagined he meant.

Sitting back a little, she studied his face, then stroked his cheek. "Me too," she assured him. He kissed her, and his hands moved over her under the water. His touch felt different, her skin more sensitive. She moaned into his mouth, shifting against him. Being apart was hell, but getting reacquainted was so much fun.

He used the buoyancy of the water to lift her up and kiss her breast, the cool air and arousal making them pebble hard. Then he settled her back down so she straddled him. She sank back into his kiss, wrapping her arms and legs around him. His erection pressed against her clit. She ground against him and was pleased it made him groan. They teased each other like that for a little while, and let the kiss wind on. Then his hands wandered downward to lift her up enough he could slide inside her.

She shuddered as he filled her, fingers digging into his skin. She murmured his name, kissing his jaw, then his shoulder. His thumb found her clit, and by now he knew how to touch her as well as she did herself. They knew each other, and fit and moved together like they'd been made that way.

Her build to her climax was slow but steady. The pressure from his thumb held her just at the edge. Eventually she grew impatient and growled at him, nipping at his mouth. He shifted them in the water, pushing her to lean back a bit, until a jet of water brushed her. He moved his hand so the full force of it hit her.

All those years ago, on their first night together and their first time in Monte Carlo he did this. For a long time it had ranked as one of her top five best orgasms. The one that crashed through her now put that one to shame. She threw her head back with a scream, shaking with the force of it. The pulsing of the water didn't stop, and the climax went on, as if a second one came right on top of it. She held onto him desperately as everything else had gone blank. 

At some point he moved her away from the jet and she drifted back into reality. Her ears were ringing.

She rested her head on his shoulder with a little groan. "You are a talented man," she murmured.

He turned his head to kiss her damp neck. "Did I break you?"

"I think you did, a little."

"Seriously, I'm not sure the sound you made was even human." He sounded rather proud of himself. "If I had a house, I would buy this tub and install it just so we could fuck in it."

Maybe someday. The thought should have sent panic through her, but it didn't. Every spy had a dream. A what-if fantasy. If you survive the job, make it to gold watch retirement, what would you do? A house with a jet tub and Clint didn't sound too bad.

"Find out how often you can break me?"

He nuzzled her hair. "You have to admit, it would be a fun experiment."

"For the first few nights," she conceded. She stroked the back of his head. "Did you come? I sort of blanked out there for a minute."

He laughed. "Yes. And you completely didn't notice. My ego is having a great day."

"Merry Christmas," she told him, giving him a smacking kiss.

He grinned, and she loved how happy he looked. She wasn't sure anyone ever saw him smile like that but her. "Merry Christmas."


	12. Chapter 12

_New York, 2014_

Natasha was on a recon mission of some sort with Rogers, and Clint was home alone and bored. His day consisted mostly of watching TV and glaring at his stupid broken foot. He was contemplating a nap, when suddenly JARVIS's disembodied voice said, "This is a reminder to purchase Ms. Romanov a Christmas gift."

He stared up at the ceiling. "What?"

"Mr. Stark has requested I remind him of all gift giving holidays. Since you moved into the Tower he has included you and Mr. Odinsson on the reminder list for Christmas."

Clint laughed. "That's quite nice of him. Got any suggestions for what I ought to buy?"

"Flowers. Chocolates. Promises you don't intend to keep."

Something about the way the AI said that made Clint think it was a joke, but the hell if he knew where from. You wouldn't think a computer could make jokes, but JARVIS seemed to. Before he could ask for clarification, there was a knock on his door. "Yeah?"

"It's Thor. May I have word with you?"

"Mr. Odinsson is at the door," JARVIS said almost in unison.

"Yes, thank you," Clint said. "JARVIS, open the door for him."

There was a quiet clunk and Thor swung the door open, stepping inside. Clint was still getting used to seeing the big guy in civilian clothes. The armor mostly only came out for missions now. "How are you feeling?" Thor asked with a gesture at Clint's injured foot.

"A little stir crazy, but all right, thank you." He moved his foot, and gestured so Thor could sit on the couch. "What can I do for you?"

"The computer just informed me I need to purchase Jane a Christmas present. Is Christmas the holiday with the rabbit that lays eggs and the undead man? Or the one with the infant archer? Or. . . was it a carved gourd, I think. And cats. No, we had that one already. Darcy walked around all day dressed like me."

Infant archer. . . oh was he glad Nat hadn't been around to hear that. "No, none of the above actually. Christmas is a dead tree covered in lights in the living room, presents for all your friends and usually a big dinner. Kids have a fat guy in red that comes down the chimney but we're all adults here so we handle our own gifts."

"Ah, yes, the fat man with a beard. I remember that part now."

"Right. It's usually spent with family but I think you and Jane are the only ones with family to speak of, so. . . I guess we're on our own."

"Mr. Stark will be hosting a Christmas dinner for all interested team members," JARVIS interjected helpfully.

"Should I procure a tree to put lights on?" Thor asked.

"It would probably make Jane happy if you did so. She may want to go get the tree with you, though. Women are funny like that."

Thor gave a nod of commiseration. "Yes, she can be very particular. Though, she gets so wrapped up in her work she seems to like it when I just. . . take care of things."

"I know exactly what you're talking about."

"You are unable to procure such a tree for yourself. I will get you one."

Clint tried to think of the last time he'd had a Christmas tree and couldn't recall it. But they were settling here. Maybe something homey like that would be nice. "Thank you, Thor."

The other man smiled. "You're very welcome. I presume you will be able to find your own present for Natasha through the internet. Do you have any suggestions on appropriate gifts?"

"Is there anything she has been talking about wanting?"

He frowned, considering. "She is not one for jewelry or such. I know there are objects and equipment from Asgard she would love to take apart, but I fear that might be starting something I can't stop. What is the Midgardian legend? Pandora's box?"

"You are probably a living Pandora's box, you know."

"That's probably true. Fortunately, no one has asked to dissect me."

"Perhaps find something she can take apart. Scientists love that sort of thing."

Another thoughtful head tilt. "Darcy might have an idea, as well. She's very helpful that way."

"Ladyfriends often are."

"Do you know what you will be giving Natasha?"

He rubbed his eyes. Painkillers made him fuzzy, but if he didn't take them, his foot throbbed. "Not even the slightest clue."

Thor looked concerned on his behalf. "Does she have a ladyfriend you could ask for aid?"

"Nat and I really just kind of have each other."

"I understand you have been partners a long time."

It was a long time for them. He imagined a decade was barely a blink for someone as old as Thor. "A quarter of my life," he said instead. "Professionally, anyway. In the other sense, a few years less."

Thor nodded thoughtfully. "If you know her that well then perhaps an idea will soon come to you for a gift. You must know her tastes and needs well."

That he certainly did. Unfortunately, so did she, and anything she wanted she bought. Stark paid them pretty well. Jewelry seemed like a cop out. She liked her fancy lingerie, but she claimed that all had to be tried on. She even bought all the sex toys. Not that he was going to discuss that with Thor. Maybe he could take her somewhere as a gift. She liked fancy hotels. They'd met in one on Christmas years ago. He recalled that being quite an entertaining night.

_If I had a house. . ._

He looked up at Thor, who'd stood there patiently while his mind was wandering. "Do you know anything about plumbing?"

The Asgardian looked momentarily perplexed and Clint briefly wondered if they had some sort of weird magic tech that handled Asgard's water and sewage. Then the blond man's face brightened and he said, "A fair amount, actually. Jane's London apartment was very old. Miss Darcy and I had a long and arduous battle with a garbage disposal of most vexing temperament."

That made Clint chuckle. "Excellent. JARVIS, is Mr. Stark in the building?"

"He is in his workshop, as usual. Building arrowheads, I believe," the AI replied.

"Could you put me through to him, please?"

"Connecting." 

There was a quiet chiming noise, then Stark's voice. "The stinkbomb arrow will be done when it is done and not a minute before, peg leg."

"I'm not calling about the arrows. I'm calling with a question for my, well, landlord."

Stark didn't reply for a moment. "You've piqued my curiosity. Shoot."

"Can I make modifications to the bathroom? Such as installing a tub?"

"Oh. Yeah, sure. The apartment floors are rated for any commercial tub. You aren't thinking like, hot tub or anything, right?"

"Nope. It would be for bathing." And other things. "You know how women like bubble baths."

"Thank you for the mental image of Natasha in a bubble bath."

He laughed. "You're welcome, Stark." 

"Good luck with the tub. Let me know if you need help with the install."

"I will. And don't say anything about it, it's a surprise."

"I know nothing."

*

It was very late at night when Nat and Steve got back to the tower. She was fairly certain Clint would be asleep, but she still looked forward to curling up next to him. His apartment next door had still never been slept in. Even with his foot in the boot he had to wrap a pillowcase around and still accidentally hit her with twice a night, they shared a bed. Even when she was out of town, he slept in 'her' place. 

They were excellent at charades, the two of them.

When she let herself in, she was surprised to find him on the couch, though he was asleep with the remote in his hand. The scent of pine hit her and she turned to see a ceiling high Christmas tree, festooned with twinkling multi-colored lights.

She smiled and went over to touch one of the branches. She had never bothered with Christmas trees since she was usually traveling at the holidays. The scent really did make it feel more homey.

Walking back to the couch, she bent to kiss his cheek. He'd get sore if he stayed on the couch all night. He groaned, and then his eyes open. "Hey," he said, his voice rough with sleep.

"Hey," she replied softly. "Come to bed."

He sat up slowly. "Welcome home."

It was still novel to have someone to come home to. She had had a handful of apartments over the years that had felt like home. The one in DC the most recent. But they had never had someone waiting for her. "Thanks," she whispered. "Did you have fun without me?"

"Not as much as I do with you." He pulled himself to his feet. She had to admit he seemed to have an easier time moving around one-legged than she had. "There's a plumbing problem with this bathroom, we need to use the one in the other apartment."

"Seriously? I expected better of Stark's opulence." She stepped beside him so he could use her for balance as they hobbled towards the bedroom. "Oh, I brought you something. Well, a couple things. I had time to stop in at my Paris apartment after the recon was done. I want to let the lease lapse so I cleaned out some personal stuff." She dug in the inner pocket of her jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Unfolded, it revealed an outline map of the world with several countries neatly colored in.

He stopped and stared at it. "Oh my god, it's real."

"I told you it was," she said lightly. The detour to grab it was totally worth the look on his face.

He laughed and shook his head, sitting on the bed to wrestle his sweatpants off over the boot. "Thor installed the Christmas tree."

"I saw it. That was nice of him." She started stripping off her gear. She had intended on taking a shower, but wandering over to the other apartment felt like too much work. She'd do it in the morning.

He tucked the pillowcase around the boot and climbed into bed. "I haven't had one since I was a child."

"I've never had one," she offered. The last of her gear hit the floor and she sat to take off her boots and pants. "Tomorrow I can run and get ornaments or something. Unless you want to stick with just the lights."

"Ornaments might be nice." He rolled onto his side and watched her. "I should warn you. . . I got you a Christmas present."

Surprised, she turned and looked at him. "You remembered?"

She watched him hesitate a moment, then said, "Stark had JARVIS remind us all."

Nat laughed and leaned over to kiss him. "That still counts."

He tugged on her arm. "Lay down with me."

"Lemme finish changing." She shed her pants and reached into her drawers to find the Hawkeye t-shirt she'd bought from a shop the other day. She was amassing a collection. This one read "I heart Hawkeye" with an arrow through the heart.

Lifting the covers she slid into bed with him, cuddling against his side. He kissed her hair and murmured, "That's the most adorable shirt I've ever seen."

"Thank you. I'm totally buying you Black Widow ones for Christmas."

He sighed and pulled her closer. "I'm glad you're home. I don't sleep well without you."

"Mmm." She wiggled and arm free to stroke his hair. "I missed you." That got her only a satisfied sigh as he drifted back to sleep. He didn't like to talk about it, but she knew he still had nightmares. She wondered how much he'd slept at all with her gone. 

Her internal clock was all messed up so she wasn't sure if she was tired because it was the middle of the night or because the mission had been long. Either way, her bed was comfortable and the man she loved was wrapped around her like an octopus. It was surprisingly calming for a woman who wasn't otherwise big on touching. She nuzzled her face into her pillow and closed her eyes, listening to his breathing as it lulled her to sleep.

*

By the week before Christmas, Clint had decided two things. One, that he hated this stupid holiday. And two, that this bathroom renovation was possibly the third most aggravating experience of his life-- and he'd had quite the life. Getting Nat out of the apartment when needed was hard enough, but now he had to deal with the Three Musketeers amateur plumbers fighting over the install.

"So, wait. Is this the overflow pipe or the cold water supply pipe?"

Stark lifted his head to look at the two pieces of metal Rhodey was holding. "That's not. . . those are for the electrical system." He reached out to snatch one out of his hand. "For the love of God, man, you went to MIT."

"There was no plumbing class at MIT, Tony."

"Any estimate on how long I'm going to have to hold this tub up?" Thor asked conversationally.

Clint rubbed his forehead. "Any chance we could call a real plumber?"

"We have a combined IQ of over five hundred," Stark grumbled, going at the insulation valve with his wrench. "We can install a god damned bathtub."

"She's going to be home in two hours. Just FYI."

Rhodey glanced upwards. "JARVIS, do you-"

"A certified plumbing specialist is on standby."

"Traitor," Stark muttered. The wrench twisted and he gave a shout of triumph. "Thor, lower the tub."

He set it down carefully, though it clearly weighted nothing to him. "Are you certain that you—"

"Yes," Stark replied.

"You didn't even know what I was going to ask," Thor said.

"Whatever it was, the answer is yes. Someone turn the water on."

"The water is now on," JARVIS said. 

Stark gave a determined little nod, reached over and turned the cold handle on the tub. The rest of them all took an instinctive step back.

And the water came out of the faucet. Thor and Rhodey leaned down to see if it was leaking from underneath.

Clint watched as steam billowed out of the tub. "Um, guys? That seems to be hot water."

Stark frowned and turned the knob to off, then turned the one marked hot. He held his hand under it a moment and the frown deepened. "So we might have switched the inputs."

"I remain astounded by your powers of deduction," Clint commented.

"Can we just switch the handles?" Thor asked.

"Now see, that is good problem solving. Not sassing for the sake of sass."

Before Clint could open his mouth to reply, his phone rang in his pocket. "That's her. All of you, not a sound." He held it to his ear and answered with, "Hi, Nat."

"Hi. I'm hitting one last store, then giving up. Did you want me to pick up anything on the way back?" He had convinced her to go Christmas shop in person. She was far more into the holiday than he had ever expected.

"How. . . soon do you expect to be back?" he asked.

There was a rustling sound before she answered. "Less than an hour, unless you have a request. Traffic is kind of nuts, so it's give or take."

"Coffee would be nice, if you don't mind." He didn't really want coffee, but clearly they weren't done in here.

"Consider it done," she said easily. She'd been very eager to fetch him things and spoil him with his hurt foot. Probably trying to pay him back for taking care of her when she was shot. Two nights ago she'd tried to make him cookies. They'd agreed to never discuss it again.

Stark was trying to mime his own drink order now. Clint had so many regrets about today. He ended the call and stuck his phone back in his pocket. "We've got an hour."

To everyone's credit, they buckled down and got it done. Thor switched the knobs. Stark and Rhodey got the jets functional with only a very minor fire. They all cleaned up and hustled out just as JARVIS told him Nat had entered the building.

Clint locked the bathroom door and hobbled back over to the couch. The continued broken-ness of the bathroom was annoying her, enough she'd complained to Stark. Clint knew, because Stark had complained to him about the complaining from her.

She came in the apartment laden with bags. Kicking the door closed with one foot, she dropped maybe a third of the bags and rearranged the others before bringing him a paper coffee cup. "I had them make it extra hot so it should still be good."

"Thank you. You bought a lot of things."

She looked down at the bags as if she hadn't noticed them before. "Christmas is getting to me."

He leaned his head back and looked at the tree. "We're being domesticated."

"Like wolves," she agreed. "Or feral cats." She bustled about unpacking bags and putting already wrapped gifts under said tree. "They say cats domesticated themselves once they realized food was more plentiful around humans."

"This isn't the beginning of a conversation about getting a cat, is it?"

She paused, head tilted a moment as she considered that. "It is now."

He stared at her for a full minute. "Really?"

"I like cats," she said defensively.

"I like dogs," he replied.

"That's it, it's over," she said lightly. "Unreconcilable differences."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, thankful they were apparently not going to have a cats vs. dogs fight. "We're a sitcom."

She bent to kiss the top of his head. "Just be glad one of us isn't a slob and the other a neat freak."

"Getting a pet is very domestic," he commented. "It's the kind of thing normal people do."

Nat had stopped at the tree to hang another ornament on it before joining him on the couch. "So is getting a tree for Christmas and having drinking and shopping buddies."

"I noticed that." He looked at the ornament she'd hung. He thought she'd just get a few packs of glass balls and call it a day. But she'd also started buying individual ornaments, ones she'd thought were funny, or relevant to them. It was the kind of collection a family would build.

This one was a cluster of arrows threaded into the string of a bow. Doing it in real life wold likely wreck the tension on the bowstring but he supposed people who made Christmas ornaments didn't care about such things. He had no idea where she found these things. Up higher on the tree there was even a glass spider hanging from and extremely fragile glass and wire web. There was a roulette wheel, a pineapple, and a profile of the Boston skyline. "You really want a cat?"

She tucked her legs up beneath her and rested her head on his shoulder. "Normal is growing on me. I like the feeling of permanence here. That this is home. I think I'd like a cat. Something to come home to." She paused. "I could tell you some wrenching story about feeding a kitten when I was a little girl and never knowing what happened to it, if that would make it more palatable."

"Well. This is your apartment and all."

He felt her chuckle more than heard it. "That's a good point. I'll get all the pets I like."

"I don't do litter boxes," he informed her.

"I find your terms acceptable."

He leaned over to kiss her temple. "I can't exchange your Christmas present, so perhaps it'll be a a New Year's thing."

"We could go together to pick it out," she offered, making it a bit of a question.

"Where does one acquire a cat, anyway?"

Nat blinked a moment. "A shelter, I would think. Though there were some in the front window of Macy's the other day. You're lucky I have impeccable self control."

He didn't think Macy's sold cats. But whatever. "I will assist you in selecting a pet of the feline nature, if you so desire."

Shifting to sit up, she caught his face in her hands and kissed him. "Thank you. You are a good. . . whatever we are."

That made him grin. "You are a good Whatever, too." He pulled her closer. "Wanna go fool around?"

"Mmm. Such elaborate seduction, Barton. I'm dizzy."

"I agreed to a cat."

Her mouth curved in a very familiar smile. "That's true." One hand wandered down his chest. "You definitely deserve a reward for that."


	13. Chapter 13

Stark threw a big dinner for all of them on Christmas Eve. He and Pepper were leaving in the morning for a vacation, but he sent out a memo for a team dinner. He labeled it "mandatory.” leading Nat to have a small argument with him about how it wasn't actually a invitation, but a set of orders.

It was a nice dinner, though. Stark had a ridiculously opulent tree and a very good caterer. Everyone was off the clock and even Banner seemed to unwind a bit. 

"I assume you will all be here for the New Year's Party?" Stark asked. He looked over at Nat. "And that is an _invitation_."

"Are we going to be on the news?" she asked. "The last party if yours I attended was."

"That was different. I was dying."

"You were drunk," Pepper commented. She looked over at Nat. "We have rules about being drunk in the suit now."

"That's very wise."

"I liked it better when you were suspicious of her nefarious ways," Stark muttered into his drink.

Pepper chuckled. "So now would be a bad time to tell you about what she and I talk about when we go shopping?"

"You really should get that mole looked at," Hill piped up from the end of the table.

The look Stark gave Pepper was so over-the-top shocked and wounded Nat cracked up. "You think the Avengers are the most powerful team in the building, but it's really the girls’ coffee club we have going."

He looked over at Clint, and asked, "Are you okay with this?"

Clint paused with his glass halfway to his mouth. Then he took a drink, set the glass down and said, "I'm strangely flattered you think I wear the pants."

Nat and the other women snorted as Stark shook his head. "We need to hang out more, man. Close ranks against the hens."

"Hens?" Thor asked, and Jane shushed him.

"Should we open presents?" Pepper said brightly.

Nat watched Clint turn towards her and raise an eyebrow. He mouthed, _Presents?_

She shook her head and waved a hand, reaching behind the couch to pull up a paper shopping bag. "If the team gets any bigger I vote we do Secret Santa next year."

The gift exchange was fun, though at least half of the men seemed surprised it was happening. The girls had discussed it over coffee weeks ago. Having friends instead of colleagues or convenient allies was still foreign territory to Nat. It sort of helped that they all conspired together against the men. Made their Starbucks trips feel more like mission briefings.

Presents were the beginning of the end of any Christmas party. They packed up and started saying goodbyes soon after, Stark reminding them about New Years the whole time.

Clint leaned against the wall of the elevator on the way down, taking the weight off his bad foot. "People like giving me arrow-themed gifts."

"You are an enigma," Nat told him. "They go with the one thing they know about you."

"Did you get me an arrow themed gift, too?"

"No, because I know you better. Did you get me a spider themed present?"

"I did not. It is neither spider, nor murder themed in any way." The elevator pinged, and the door slid open. Clint pushed off the wall and stepped into the hall. When they reached the apartment, the lights were off except for the tree, and there was soft Christmas music playing. Clint cast a bemused look at the ceiling.

Nat also looked up, putting their bag of presents by the tree. "I refuse to believe Jarvis isn't some snarky butler in a command center somewhere in the depths of the building."

Clint tilted his head, like he was listening to something. His hearing was better than hers, so if there was something other than the music, she couldn't hear it. "He does a decent romantic atmosphere, for a computer."

"I'm sure Stark gives him practice." She went over to wrap her arms around him. "Should we go to bed and wait for Santa?"

"Nope." He kissed her nose, and swayed her a little like they were dancing. "I want to give you your present tonight."

"My not spider or murder themed gift?" He nodded and she grinned. "Is it why Jarvis went all mood music on us?"

"I believe he was trying not to ruin my surprise."

This was starting to sound kind of elaborate. "What is it?"

He slid his hands down her arms to take both of her hands, and then stepped back, pulling her towards the bedroom—she thought, anyway. Instead he turned and took her to the still-broken bathroom instead. He opened the door she'd thought was locked "for their safety" and steam billowed out. A rumble of some sort was audible. He stepped out of the way, and she realized the bathroom had been redone. It was larger, and right in the middle was a giant tub, filled with water and bubbling away.

Her mouth actually dropped open she was so surprised. "Holy shit." She turned to look at him. "You did this?"

"Yes. Well, I supervised. Stark, Rhodes and Thor actually installed it. Which was. . . an adventure. I did do most of the tile. Rogers and Barnes helped with the drywall. Actually I think pretty much everyone helped on some part of this damn room."

All so she could have a huge tub with jets. Nat blinked a few times, afraid she might choke up. She wanted to fling herself at him but was afraid she'd knock him over. She settled for wrapping her arms around him and squeezing hard. "Thank you."

"Merry Christmas," he whispered into her hair.

"I love you," she told him. She leaned back to look at him. "Join me for a bath?"

"I don't know how useful I will be," he said, gesturing at the foot. He could take the boot off to shower, but he had to be careful about it.

She took a step back and crossed her arms in front of her, gripping the hem of her shirt and pulling it off. "I can be inventive. Or we can just share a bath and retire to bed. That would be novel."

He chuckled, but pulled his own shirt off. "Let's take a platonic bath and then sleep is something only men in chick lit think is a fun time."

"Sweetie, I think you have an extremely misguided concept of what happens in chick lit." She unfastened her slacks and let the them fall, kicking them off towards the doorway.

He watched her appreciatively, and then sat on the edge of the tub to take off the boot, and then his jeans. Nat watched a moment to be sure he didn't need any help, then she slipped her bra and panties off and climbed into the tub, sighing as the hot water hit her skin. He swung his legs around and got in the tub himself. It was clearly designed for two people, with mirrored curved backs and headrests. After a moment he groaned, and his eyes slid closed. "This is really nice."

"It is," she agreed. "It reminds me of the one-" She stopped suddenly, remembering their Christmas in Monte Carlo, dreaming about a home with a huge tub and Clint. She'd thought of it as a spy's fantasy, something to look forward to after retirement. And yet here she was. "You're very sweet sometimes, you know that?"

"I'm not sure 'sweet' is what I'm generally going for," he murmured, his eyes still closed.

"The face you show me is very different from the face everyone else sees. And vice versa, I suppose."

He opened his eyes. "I don't know that it's about showing, so much as seeing. You show many faces to me. I still see you."

She smiled. "I told Steve once that I hid my true self under layers of untrue ones. The truth isn't all things to all people speech." He'd heard it, probably several times. After this long he'd probably heard all of her speeches. "You're the only person I don't feel the need to put the layers up for." She paused, then added, "I'm starting to let people get a little closer, though. It's strange." Bruce talked about being exposed, like a nerve. Sometimes when she was out with the other women and just being Natasha, no persona or second agenda, she felt the same.

"The first night you came to me, you came as yourself. I told you that was all I wanted and I meant it. I still do."

The tub was large enough she had to almost swim to cross it and reach him. She slid her arms around his neck and kissed him. "Well, you're stuck with me now."

He cupped one of her breasts in his palm. "You are the only thing in my life I couldn't live without."

She kissed him again, settling so she perched on one of his legs. "I feel the same." She pressed an open mouthed kiss to his throat. "Though I feel like this tub will soon be a close second."

"You won't need me anymore. There's even a handheld attachment." He pointed.

"Oh, Clint you _spoil_ me." She stroked her hand down his chest and down the lines of his abs. His cock was already hard and growing harder, so she wrapped her fingers around it to help it along.

He groaned. "That's the point of a present, isn't it? Something to make you happy."

With her other hand she held the back of his head so she could kiss him deeply. "You make me happy," she murmured against his mouth. "Every day." She shifted to straddle him properly.

He cupped her hips, pulling her down. She moaned a little as he filled her. She would never, ever get tired of this. He pressed his thumb against her clit as she settled down. "This sort of thing probably helps," he said, his voice tight.

It was, of course, so much more than that. But sex was not the time for deep emotional conversations. And besides, she was pretty sure he knew. She she kissed him again and relaxed into a rhythm, his finger brushing at her clit with each downward thrust.

It was not the explosive tub sex they'd had in the past, but that was all right. It was slow and tender, just the two of them in the warm water, Silent Night drifting through the door. Her pleasure built slowly, a growing ache inside her. She opened her eyes to find him watching her and smiled at the look in his eyes.

Her orgasm took her slowly, in long deep waves. She kissed him, arms tightening as she rippled around him. He slid a hand into her hair, holding her head and keeping their gazes locked. It was, for that moment, intensely intimate. Then he groaned, and his eyelids shuttered as it took him, too.

She rested her forehead on his, leaning on him as he calmed. "I fear my gift will be quite inadequate after all this."

"It isn't a competition. And there was something—many somethings, hopefully—in this tub for me."

Chuckling, she carefully slipped off his lap. "That's a very good point."

He grinned at her. "Can I have it tonight?"

She tipped her head back, thinking. "You can see it tonight, but I think we'll need help getting it over here."

"Mmm, I didn't expect you to bring it into the tub."

"I have it hidden in your apartment. It's too big for me to carry alone and you're gimpy."

He tilted his head. "I am now greatly intrigued."

She grinned, stretched, and stood, making sure he got a good view of the water silucing down her. "Come on. Dry off and put some pants on and I'll show you."

Nat went to get her pajamas, and brought a pair of pajama pants back for him. She knelt down to strap him back into his walking boot. He dried her hair with a towel while she fastened all the velcro braces.

When they were both decent she lead him over to the other apartment, walking slow so he could keep up with her. Having to use "his" apartment's bathroom the last couple weeks had messed with her plans, but the place had a second bedroom and Clint had fortunately never been curious enough to open it.

She pushed that door open now to reveal a very nice reclining armchair the same leather as her couch. "It reclines fully horizontal," she told him. "So when you fall asleep out in the living room I don't have to wake you up to prevent neck cricks."

He grinned widely. "I love it."

She beamed in pleasure. "It actually advertises a zero g experience. I'm not sure about that but it is comfortable."

He slid an arm around her. "Come try it out with me."

It took a minute to arrange themselves, but there was plenty of room for him to sit with her across his lap. He hit the button to recline it and she curled up on him, listening to his heartbeat. "Good?"

"Perfect," he whispered. He was quiet a moment, before saying. "This is home."

"I think it is," she agreed. The thought had been bouncing around her thoughts for a while now. Hearing him say it made it feel real.

"Never thought I'd see that. I wasn't even sure it was possible. But here we are."

"Yep. Two master assassins. Buying recliners and doing home improvements. Getting a cat." She wasn't letting him forget that last one. "It's even stranger than aliens in New York."

*

_Washington DC, 2012_

Clint read the briefing three times, hoping it might tell him something new. Then he fumed for a few moments, and told himself storming into his boss's office and throwing some sort of tantrum would be both beneath his dignity, and out of character.

He took a could of slow breaths and then texted Nat. _Lunch?_

The response was almost immediate. _Sure. Here at the caf or off site?_

_Somewhere with a bar._

_Ah. That kind of lunch. That place in Adam's Morgan with the artichoke dip?_

_I'll meet you at the Metro station._

She replied with just a smilie face which actually improved his mood for a second. At least enough that he didn't snarl at anyone on the way out of the building. He spotted her at the top of the escalator down to the subway, wearing skin-tight jeans and a dark leather jacket, hair gleaming in the sun. She'd cut it recently after growing it out of years and while he missed the length he liked the almost forties curl it had now.

They were on the train before he said, "They're sending me to New Mexico."

She frowned, looking over at him. "What for?"

"Babysitting scientists, apparently."

Frowning, she looked at the wall a moment, as if intently studying the route map. "For how long?"

"Unspecified," he bit out.

Another pause. "Do you think you're being punished?"

"I can only assume. I'm not injured." He sighed and looked over at her, suddenly wishing he could put his arm around her or take her hand. But they were in public, and they had rules.

"I haven't been given an active assignment," she said, sounding thoughtful. "No one wagged a finger at you or anything?"

"Nothing. It was treated as completely normal. Anybody say anything to you?"

She shook her head. "Have we been too obvious lately? I can't think of any sort of catalyst."

"There was the whole ignoring the phones at Christmas. I lied about what continent I was on."

Her lips pursed. "Right." She was silent a moment. Then she reached over and touched the back of his hand with one finger. "I'm sorry."

He hooked his pinky around hers. "Monte Carlo was kind of worth it."

She grinned. "I'm glad you think so. And there's worse places to play babysitter."

"Well. Apparently it's in some giant underground bunker."

"That is less nice."

They were quiet for bit, as the train made it's way through stops. "I'm leaving Tuesday," he said finally.

Nat huffed out a breath. "So soon."

The metro came to their stop, and he stood up, holding his arm out so she could go ahead of him. He wanted to invite her to come to his place this weekend, so they could have a little time before he was gone for however long. But that would definitely be against the rules.

He did indulge in watching her ass as they climbed back up to street level. "So what's the plan?" she asked. "Drown your sorrows?"

"Got any better suggestions?"

"DC has an assortment of hotels."

He stopped on the sidewalk and looked down at her. "You don't think that's against the rules?"

She stopped and met his gaze. For a second he saw uncertainty there. He expected her to agree, demure. _You're probably right, Barton._

"Rules were made to be broken, Clint."

And so that's how they spent the weekend, locked in fancy hotel room not far from the White House. They registered under assumed names, and ordered room service for their meals. There was no reason for it other than they wanted to, that they knew they'd miss each other. Sometimes whatever it was that was between them hewed awfully close to something others might call a relationship.

They stayed up far too late Monday night considering he had to be on a plane first thing in the morning. "I'm supposed to go into the office Friday," Nat said. "Probably for a mission assignment. Twenty bucks says they're sending me to Siberia or something."

He kissed her shoulder, her body spooned against his. "Maybe it's Chechnya."

"No one in management has that much flare."

"My orders came straight from Director Fury. He seems to enjoy both style and irony."

Her fingers traced little patterns on his arm. "That's true. Maybe it'll be Baghdad, just to be really obvious."

"I suppose we knew this was coming. Someday." He stroked her breast, filling his palm with it. He wasn't trying to start anything, he just enjoyed touching her, and it might be a while before he could again.

"We have been less than subtle lately," she conceded. "And I still think it could be worse as punishments go."

"Do you think it will get worse?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know. I'm hoping this is a tit for tat for Christmas. If it does get worse I'm going to say something to Fury. We are not the first set of partners to have a personal relationship."

The thought of someone keeping them apart, of her being taken from him, wasn't even bearable. He'd quit his job first. But he didn't tell her things like that. He knew they'd only scare her. "Doesn't mean they'd like it."

"True. But they don't break them up. Not to my knowledge, anyway. So if they're going to give us special treatment they'd better explain why."

"We are very valuable assets." 

"All the more reason not to piss us off," she grumbled, cuddling back into him.

He didn't want to go to New Mexico. He wanted to stay in this bed with her. "We should sleep."

She sighed softly but didn't argue with him. She squeezed his wrist lightly. "Good night, Clint."

He nuzzled her hair and murmured, "Try not to miss me too much."

"It will be difficult," she said wistfully. "What if I get an itch on my back I can't reach?"

For some reason, that made him ache. It wasn't too long ago she wouldn't have admitted to missing him at all, let alone sound so sad about it. "I'll leave you an arrow, they make great back scratchers."

"That's why I like you. You think outside the box." She wiggled again, pressing against the length of him. "Would you like a scarf of mine to take and remember me by?"

He groaned, feeling his body react to her. "Like a knight going into battle?"

Obviously noticing, she repeated the action, slowly. "Yeah. A lady's favor, I think they called it."

Her breast was still in his hand, so he pinched and rolled the nipple in retaliation. "You'll probably be doing more battling than me."

She sighed softly, arching into his hand eagerly. "I've already stolen one of your shirts," she assured him.

He chuckled, and let his hand slide down her abdomen. "From where?"

"Mmm, the last one was from Monte Carlo. But I steal them regularly. Trade them out for new when they lose your scent." It occurred to him that she was probably serious. Sometimes, with her, it was still hard to tell.

His hand reached the juncture of her thighs. She was still wet. "What do you do with them?"

Another little sigh and she rubbed herself against his hand, which also served to grind her ass against his hardening cock. "Wear them. To bed or on off hours. I actually had to wear one under my tac gear once when I had no notice. It required washing before returning it to you."

She was definitely serious, and he was a little stunned. Particularly that she was telling him about it. "I had no idea," he murmured. He sank his fingers inside her, no longer interested in sleep.

Her breath hitched and she didn't answer right away, body rocking in time to his strokes. "I started after you stayed with me. With the shooting. Wanted to see how long it took you to notice." He pressed her clit with the heel of his hand and she groaned, hitching her top leg up to give him better access.

"Just a game then?" he asked, stroking her a little faster.

"At first," she admitted, voice breathless. "Then I just - I - God Clint." He could feel her getting close. The muscles in her stomach were tense under his arm and she was hot and slick around his fingers. She'd need very little to tip her over the edge.

But he slowed, because sometimes he thought this was the only time she ever relaxed her walls. "Just what?" he whispered.

She gave a low keening noise, hips pressing into his hand. When he didn't change his pace she hissed air through her teeth and said, "I liked it. Having them when you weren't with me."

He withdrew his hand, sliding it back up her stomach. "I want you," he told her, perhaps the most inadequate word he could think of for what he actually felt. She let out a low, shaky groan and arched, reaching behind her to grip his erection and guide him to her entrance. She canted her hips and he was able to slide deep.

Her sigh sounded like relief as much as pleasure. "I'm right here," she murmured.

Only for now. Only for as long as their little stolen moments lasted. She pushed back against him, but the slow rocking wouldn't be enough. He rolled them, pressing her onto her stomach. She gasped and bucked her hips, squeezing around him.

She turned her head on the pillow so he could see her profile, the curve of her cheek. "Fuck me," she whispered. "Hard. Please."

He kissed the back of her neck, and thrust hard. She bucked again, but he knew she could barely move. She was at his mercy. "I need you, Tasha."

Her hands fisted in the sheets and he felt her try to move again. "Clint. . . I need you, too."

"Good," he told her, fierce possessiveness stealing over him as he moved in her. Faster. Harder. She was _his_. She let out a series of moans and whimpers. The soundtrack of their lovemaking for years. He loved her noises, loved that she trusted him enough to make them.

She grew tighter around him, her hips jerking what little they could. First erratically, then faster and more urgent. "Please," she gasped out. "Please Clint. Please let me. . ."

His teeth grazed the back of her neck, and he felt himself at the edge. But he would wait for her. He sank as deep into her as he could get. "Trust me," he whispered.

"I do. I do." She lifted up to him, meeting his strokes. Then she let out that keening noise again and he felt her clench around him. "Yes," she breathed. "Yes. Yes, Clint." She repeated his name as she shook, rippling around him in waves. The force of it was more than he could take, and he closed his eyes, letting her pull him into oblivion with her.

She lay limply beneath him when he came back to himself, her chest heaving, heart pounding in time with his. He hoped he wasn't crushing her, because he wasn't yet sure he could move. Because he couldn't see her face, and then didn't have to make eye contact, he found himself quietly saying, "I miss you every time we're apart."

He felt her shift a little, then one of her hands came up to stroke his hair. "Me too." It was said so softly he could barely hear it. He pressed a kiss into her shoulder, and wondered if a day would come that he could tell her that he loved her. He was fairly certain she knew, but saying the words out loud was something else entirely. Finally he moved off of her, and wrapped an arm around her to pull her close. They really ought to sleep.

She settled against his shoulder, tucking into his side. "Goodnight, Clint," she murmured.

"Goodnight, Tasha," he murmured back. "You may have all the shirts you wish."

Her shoulders shook with silent laughter. "Good."


	14. Chapter 14

_New York, 2015 (barely)_

"Can we get one that doesn't have a lot of fur?"

Nat glanced up at Clint. "I assume you mean short haired and not one of the creepy hairless ones?"

"Yes. I don't want one of those giant puffball ones with the smushed faces."

"Persians and no, we won't get one of those. They can have a lot of health problems." It was New Year's Day, and she had dragged him out on his walking boot and a cane to go to the closest animal shelter to get her kitten. "I just want an ordinary, run of the mill mutt of a cat," she assured him.

"Cat shopping with a hangover is an act of love, Nat," he told her. Stark's New Years Party had been rather. . .raucous. 

"Would you have preferred to let me come alone?" She'd offered. He'd expressed concern she'd come home with a whole litter.

"Apparently the fact that I was going the next day to get a cat elevated me significantly on the Chart of Hotness Dr. Newbury's nurses were making."

Nat was double checking the shelter address on her phone, but paused to look at him again. "There was a hotness chart and I wasn't informed?"

"It was only for men." He paused. "Steve was at the top." Their cab came to a stop, he paid the driver and they both got out. She watched him do a visual sweep of the street. They didn't get followed or photographed the way Stark or Thor or Steve did, but occasionally someone recognized them. Clint was paranoid about being photographed while gimpy.

She waited patiently for him to nod and the crossed the sidewalk to the shelter door. He opened it for her and she ducked into the lobby. There was a family clustered around a small end table filling out a form and two counters with people in dark green shirts behind them. She went to the nearest counter and said. "I would like a cat."

The woman behind it reached for a form and held it out to her. "Please fill this out. Have you picked one out yet?"

"No. We just got here." She talked a big game with Clint but Nat actually had no idea how this was done. Was it like the old movies of orphanages where they animals lined up for inspection? Or did they just bring her some?

"The cat rooms are through there," she said. "Go ahead in and look around, come let us know if there's anyone you'd like to meet. Then when you've found one, you can fill out the form and I'm sorry, but are you who I think you are?"

Behind her, Clint sighed but Nat smiled. "Probably, yeah." She pointed. "Through there, you said?"

The woman looked from one to the other, and nodded frantically.

Clint waited until they'd gone through the doors. "Black Widow and Hawkeye get a cat together. News at ten."

"If it makes a print paper I want to frame the headline." They followed signs to a room lined with cages, each with a cat in it. Nat blinked at her options a moment, then picked a places to start and began to circle the cages, peering in at the animals.

"There are a lot of them," he commented from behind her.

She nodded. "It's very good that you came." Nat generally prided herself on her self control but even she had a limit. Sad cats in cages seemed to be it.

Halfway around she came face to face with a black kitten with eyes the color of copper. They stared at each other a moment, then the cat blinked slowly and yawned, arching against the door of her cage and purring.    
"This one," Nat said, pointing at it.

Clint came over, and she could see him smile. "I approve." He looked up the name tag on the cage. "Isn't Kali the Hindu goddess of destruction?"

She had all her fingers in the holes of the cage and the cat was licking them. "It is."

He kissed the top of her head. "I'll go get the lady."

The lady took them to a little room with chairs and a basket of toys and left to get the cat. When she returned, Nat crouched on the ground and held her hand out to the kitten. It was smaller than it had looked in the cage, and was probably fluffier than Clint would have liked.

It prowled over to Nat and sniffed her fingers before rubbing them. Then she wandered over to Clint and sniffed his boot and rubbed that. When she had thoroughly claimed the black plastic she wandered back to Nat and hopped on one of her knees, balancing expertly. From there she jumped to her shoulder, nuzzled her hair and started to purr like a freight train.

"Yes," Nat said, standing in one smooth motion so as not to disturb the kitten. "This one."

"Your image totally needs a black cat perched on your shoulder," he commented.

"If I can't be a Bond girl I will be his villain."

"What do we call her?"

Nat sank her fingers into the kitten's fur and the purr managed to get louder. "You think Kali is asking for trouble?"

"Yes. Yes I do."

"How about Muffin?" she asked innocently.

"If you've made your decision I do have a form for you to fill out," the shelter lady said. "And there's a small adoption fee."

The form was on a clipboard. Clint took it to fill out, even though it was about her. She leaned over to see him write "Avenger" as her occupation. She supposed that was less ridiculous than "superhero."

The lady took the form and the cat in the back and sent them to the lobby where Nat paid her adoption fee and signed a couple autographs. Then she was brought a cardboard cat carrier and a small bag with a collar, dry food and can of wet food.

"Congratulations," the woman said sincerely.

"We're not putting a collar on her," Clint said once they were back in the cab.

"Of course not. Kitty needs to roam free."

He was peering into the carrier. "She needs some better stuff in general."

"Jarvis gave me the names of three pet shops near the Tower. I can drop you and Kitty home and hit one for supplies. Unless your foot is up for more hobbling."

"Mmm. Macho is warring with pain."

"If you overdo it and hurt yourself I'll tattle to Dr. Newbury,"

He kissed her temple. "Fine. I'll go home. But think of a better name than Kitty."

And so she dropped him off at the Tower with the cat and had the cab take her to the first store on her list. Jarvis had also helpfully uploaded a list of suggested cat items to her phone. This would be easy.

Four hours later she returned to the Tower, slightly poorer, but with a cat who would never want for anything. Clint was in his recliner, watching TV, the kitten curled up in the middle of his chest. She stopped to look at them a moment, smiling. Then she got to work setting up her new purchases.

Kitty woke up when Nat set up the food and water bowls but Clint dozed until there was a knock at her door indicating the two large cat trees had been delivered.

He looked up. "You got two?"

"One for the living room and one for the spare bedroom since it gets the afternoon light." She bent to pet the kitten as she sniffed at her new catnip banana. "Vertical territory is important for cats." He of all people should be able to respect that.

"She deserves a good perch." Nat came close enough for him to grab her and drag her into his lap in the recliner.

She laughed when the cat joined them. "Think of any names for her?"

"I don't know. But I do kind of like her." She could feel as much as hear me sigh. "Stark came to talk to me. The found another Hydra base."

"Mission time?"

"They need a sniper, but I'm, you know. . ." he gestured at his foot.

That could be a problem. She was good with a gun and if you gave her a rifle with a good scope she could fake it, but nothing like Clint. Not at the caliber they needed. "Is Stark building a very special suit?"

"They're going to take Barnes. Assuming Doc okays it."

Her brows arched. "Huh." She stroked the cat's fur. "He'll probably do better if he feels like part of the team."

"Steve heartily approved. And the man's a hell of a shot."

 Unconsciously, she rolled her shoulder. "Yes, he is."

He stroked her hair and scritched the cat's head and the same time. "You okay working with him?"

She leaned into his touch. "I am. I know what it's like to fight your way back from being a tool. He needs people to trust him." She smiled. "Besides, Doc seems to like him. And she doesn't suffer fools."

"Even Hill seems to have made peace with it. And she wanted to lock me up, back when."

"Hill has a tough job. Tougher now that Fury is 'dead.'" Her use of air quotes made Clint smile. "I suppose I don't begrudge her wanting to imprison first and ask questions later. Though at the time I was already planning the fist fight I was going to have with her if she tried anything."

"Is it terrible that I would have enjoyed seeing that fight?"

"I'm fairly sure everyone in the room would have enjoyed that fight. Stark would have gotten pudding or something."

"Though, I suppose I would have felt I deserved it and gone willingly."

He had been in a bad place then. And for quite a while afterwards, though he'd hidden it well. She stroked his jaw with her thumb. "And then I would have had to break you out."

Slowly he slid his hand behind her neck, and pulled her down to kiss him. He still didn't like talking about it much. She sank into him, kissing him until he loosened his grip a little and she lifted her head. "So I had three suggestions for the cat's name."

"Hit me."

She ticked them off on her fingers. "Raven. Pele. And London."

He grinned widely. "London?"

Oddly self conscious, she shrugged. "We both said that's where we started to fall in love. And Baghdad is an even weirder name for a cat than London."

"I like it."

She smiled and rubbed the kitten's head. "London it is."

*

_New Mexico, 2012_

A week into his assignment, and Clint was convinced this was punishment. His sole task was to watch a bunch of scientists building equipment and poking at a glowing, alien object. The scientists had been giving him sideways looks all day.

Finally the head one, Dr. Selvig, came over. "Are you just going to stand in the corner and stare at us every day."

Clint sighed. "Pretty much."

The scientist paused. "You make a few of my colleagues. . . unsettled."

"Well. This isn't my usual gig."

Selvig smiled a little. "What exactly to they expect you to do if something goes wrong?"

He lifted a shoulder. "Kill everyone?"

The smile faded. "Well. There's incentive not to make an error." The scientist left him alone after that. Though the side eyes increased.

He really shouldn't be so grumpy. But he was stuck here, and he was bored, and he had no real instructions, other than to let Fury know if anything went sideways. 

The next day, while he was doing his usual looming, his phone buzzed against his hip. _Are you making enemies and alienating people?_

_Don't tell me they complained to HQ._

_Fury asked me if you had a company manners button. All my responses were too dirty to voice aloud._

_If he wanted a diplomat he should have sent someone else. Literally anyone else._

_Your resting serial killer face does you no favors in that department._

That made him chuckle, which caused the scientists to look up at him in surprise. He made a waving motion with his hand. _I will try to be nicer._

_You have it in you. I know you do._ There was a pause, then, _What are they doing out there, anyway?_

_Boring science things._ There was a little more to it than that, but the entire things was highly, highly classified.

_I'm going on assignment soon. Russia. I called it._

_I wish you were here._ He winced once he send it. Maybe that was too much. But it was entirely true.

But her answer was immediate and positive. _We'd have such fun. It'd be like if the loner slacker kids crashed the science fair._ Most of what Nat knew about American high schools came from 80s movies.

He shook his head. Selvig was giving him an odd look, which he ignored. _We'd be too busy cracking jokes to pay attention to our work._

_That's probably true. End up letting some alien dinosaur eat all the scientists._

Across the room, the blue cube made a flare of some sort. Whatever it was, it was enough to knock the scientists back, and set the room sprinklers off. He put his phone away and went to go make sure no one was hurt. 

"We need a larger lab," Selvig said.

"You need a more secure lab," Clint replied. He rubbed the back of his neck. "How much juice does that thing potentially put out?"

Selvig glanced over at it. "Potentially? I don't know that we have a metric for it. Enough to run every factory in the country? More."

"Enough to build a bomb that would flatten a continent."

A pause. "If you want to be pessimistic about it."

"I just know how SHIELD thinks." He looked over at the other man. "Let me see what I can do." He looked down at it. "How can it hold all that and be stable?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Selvig said. "It's alien in origin. Some of it resembles science we're only beginning to understand. The rest. . . we're learning as we go."

"Okay. I'll see if I can find you guys some better digs."

The other man was obviously surprised, but simply said, "We'd appreciate it. Thank you."

He nodded, his pocket buzzed. He glanced down at the screen. _We could steal the alien dinosaur. Would make a great guard dog._

"Here I'd started to think smiling was against the rules for SHIELD agents," Selvig commented.

Clint looked up, ready to say something clipped. There was no accounting for the words that actually came out of his mouth. "My girl. She texts a lot."

Selvig smiled at that the way older men often smiled at younger ones when they found out they were in a relationship. "Well. It makes you smile. You must not mind very much."

"I suppose I don't." He shook his head, surprised he'd said it. "She's back in DC."

"Ah. I'm sorry we're keeping you from her."

"Such is the nature of the job." He gestured at the cube. "Take it easy until I get back."

"Of course," Selvig said with a short nod.

_Be proud of me,_ he told Nat. _I'm being nice to the scientists._

_More flies with honey, Clint._

It took some discussion with Fury about risk factors, and a whole lot of phone calls on his end, but soon the Cube Experimentation Team had moved to a massive underground chamber NASA used to test space shuttles. It also had a catwalk along the top he could climb, and watch everything from above.

Cell reception was spottier down there and he tended to get messages from Nat in chunks, making conversation more difficult. But he liked his perch and the scientists seemed to like him being out of sight, so he couldn't complain. 

_And I'm going to Russia,_ greeted him one afternoon when the planets aligned to give him service.

This topic seemed worthy of going upstairs for. He called one of the upstairs guards down and took the elevator to ground level. _When?_

_Forty-eight hours. I'm supposed to pack for possible extended stay. Gotta work my magic on some military higher ups._

_Those are always fun. I like picturing the face of some creepy old jackass when he realizes he's not getting in your pants._

_I'll try to snap a picture if I can. Though the file on these guys says wounded gazelle might be more effective than temptress. I'll have to play it by ear._

_Be safe. Kick ass. The usual._

_You too. Maybe if I'm very good they'll let me stop in the desert on my way home._

_That thought is going to keep me warm at night._

There was a long pause. Long enough he figured she'd gotten busy and he should head downstairs. Then, _I really miss you, you know. It's hard,_

He held the phone against his chest for a moment, then typed, _I miss you, too._

_I'll think of something fun to do when we see each other again._

_Anything, as long as we're alone._

_I'm sure that can be arranged._


	15. Chapter 15

_New York, 2015_

It wasn't too often they went on full-team missions, but this was of that caliber. Everyone was going. Except Clint, because of his foot. He tried not to grumble about it too much, but it pissed him off. He could go if he really needed to, but he'd be slow, and it was already a dangerous mission. Why handicap them from the start?

But in the end, Natasha was going on a dangerous mission, and she was doing it without him. Nothing he told himself was going to make that sit right.

She was, of course, keeping him updated via text. _Steve got Barnes to crack a smile. Check the weather report for flying pigs._

_Cloudy with a chance of bacon._

_I knew it!_ A pause, then, _Stir crazy yet?_

_London and I are watching football. Later I might pace a hole in the carpet._

_How's the foot? Still on track to get the boot off this week?_

_Yep. Too little, too late._ He frowned at the screen. _Sorry. Don't mean to be grouchy._

_It's all right. I remember how frustrating it is._

_At least you could take it out on me. I feel bad taking it out on the cat._

_London can handle herself._

Before he could type a response there was a knock at the apartment door. He looked at it for a moment before saying, "JARVIS, open the door." 

There was a quiet clunk as it unlocked and then it swung open to reveal Pepper, Dr. Foster and her assistant, Darcy. He blinked at them. "Do you need something?" 

No one spoke a moment, the Pepper stepped inside the apartment. "Natasha said you might get bored. We were headed down to the diner for lunch, if you wanted to join." 

"Did she ask you to entertain me?" 

The question made Pepper fidget with her phone, a subtle little tell. "She may have asked we check in on you. Just while everyone was gone. Keep you from getting cabin fever." 

"They drag me out of the building periodically, too," Dr. Foster offered. 

"I'm kind of a solitary person, cabin fever would take a while. And I'd hate to intrude on your lady time." 

"We all worry," Pepper said. "It helps to fill the time." 

"The diner has man-food," Darcy said. "Chicken fried steak is pretty good. And milkshakes the size of your forearm." She paused. "Well, maybe not _your_ forearm. . ." 

"It makes waiting for updates easier," Pepper added. He supposed living with Stark made you adapt to non-sequitur interruptions. 

It would make Nat happy if he went. "Steak and milkshakes sound nice." 

Pepper smiled. "We promise no pedicures or girl talk." 

He stood up, getting a claw in the thigh from the protesting cat. "And no hair braiding." 

"I don't know how to braid," Dr. Foster said. "Though Thor does. He's actually really good at it." 

"Where was he when I went to prom?" Darcy asked as the three women stepped out into the hall to wait for him. 

"It's more of a manly braid," Dr. Foster said. "You wouldn't like it." 

"I don't believe that's a thing." 

"You get used to them," Pepper said quietly as Clint pulled the door closed behind him. 

He knew Nat hung out with them, and now he was wondering if half of Nat's purpose had been to give Pepper company against the Darcy-n-Jane show. He glanced back at them. "I imagine the level of worrying is less when your partner is, you know, immortal." 

"Technically, he can be killed," Pepper said. "And we have no idea what Hydra has in development. SHIELD was working on several alien influenced weapons. It's entirely possible Hydra has continued the work and has something that could take down an Asgardian." 

"Considering Nat has neither Asgardian blood nor a metal suit. . . I don't know that I needed to think about that." 

Pepper gave him a sympathetic look. "You can take solace in the fact that Natasha doesn't _think_ she's immortal. In either Thor or Tony's sense of the phrase." 

That made him chuckle. "I'll give you that." 

"They look after each other," she said as they reached the elevator. "The team. I'm sure you'd prefer to be the one watching her back. But she's not alone." 

"I know. Intellectually." He shrugged. 

"I live in intellectually," Jane said. "It doesn't always help." 

"Not as much as chocolate and greasy food," Darcy agreed. "Someday her metabolism will quit and she'll have no healthy outlet at all." 

Clint opened his phone, and texted, _Your back-up crew has found me._

_Don't kill me. They're very nice._

_We're soothing our worry with greasy food._

_Oh good. They've accepted you as one of their own._

The diner was pretty good. Clint enjoyed both the chicken-fried steak and the milkshake he was sort of ordered to get. The women kept up a stream of chatter they didn't really require him to participate in, but the company was nice. 

They strolled back to the Tower keeping up the same level of chatter. He could tell Pepper, at least, was trying to think of a way to keep him with them. He'd gotten Nat's "going dark" text during lunch and figured the women would probably huddle together until there was word of how the mission went down. 

"Is there anything you need?" Pepper asked as they reached the Tower. "Groceries?" 

"Food seems to magically appear in our fridge." He looked over at her. "I was going to have a drink and wait. You do have way better booze at your place." 

She smiled brilliantly. "Of course you'd be welcome. We'll even let you chose the movie." 

"Or video game!" Darcy piped up. 

He leaned over to look at her. "You do not want to play a video game with me, lady," he said. 

She met his gaze a moment, then grinned. "Well, now I totally do." 

His impression of the Ladies Club had seriously improved. "You're on." 

And so they ended up in the Stark penthouse, in front of the largest television Clint had ever seen. He and Darcy played video games while the other two chatted. Eventually, drinks and snacks appeared. Darcy held her own, he was impressed. The sun had dipped below the horizon and the city lights came on before his, Pepper and Jane's phones all pinged in near unison. 

Darcy reached for snacks as he paused the game to check the phone. 

_Mission accomplished. Boarding the jet. ETA about four hours. I owe Barnes a beer._

_Did he save your ass?_

_He gave it a strong assist._

_I'm glad everyone is all right. I hung out with your girls._

There was a pause. She glanced over to see Jane and Pepper peering at their own phones intently. His buzzed in his hand. _Is your hair braided? Are your nails purple?_

_No, but I did get a nice new purse._

_I love you. You're a good sport._

_Company was nice._

_I'm glad. Looking forward to seeing you soon._

"Since all seems to be well," Pepper said. "Anyone interested in takeout for dinner?" 

So they got Thai food, and watched a movie. This was turning into way more enjoyable a day than he expected. They were part of the way through a second film - this one a little girly for his taste but he'd sat through worse with Nat - when Pepper's phone buzzed. 

"That was my half hour warning. We can head down any time." 

"Time to go stand on the Wife Line," Darcy said. 

Clint looked over at her. "The what?" 

"The red line on the floor of the hanger," she explained. "The one you're supposed to stay on one side of if you don't want to get run over by a jet? It's the Wife Line. Where they stand and wait for their menfolk to come back." 

He looked over at Pepper and Jane, and they both nodded. He shook his head. "Nobody's married." 

Darcy reached out and grabbed a handful of popcorn. "That's not entirely true." 

He looked over at Pepper, who rolled her eyes. "Like I could hide that from the press. Also, he'd get half my stuff." 

Jane raised her hand. "I can't believe I'm saying this. . . but it was an immigration thing." 

"Immigration?" 

"The US wouldn't give him a visa," Darcy said. 

Clint turned. "He's _Thor_." Darcy shrugged. 

"I've dealt with a lot of ridiculous bureaucracies," Pepper said. "The INS was the worst. We tried to get an H1-B for him, but he doesn't have a social security number or any of that. They were starting to get loud and he and Jane _did_ have an established relationship. It was just the easiest way to avoid absolutely ridiculous trouble." 

"It was a small ceremony," Jane said. "But his Asgard friends came later to take him out drinking." 

"I hooked up with the blond one," Darcy added around her mouthful of popcorn. 

"I didn't need to know that." 

"We're friends now. You deal with the over-share." 

He shook his head, and said to Jane. "Well. Congratulations, Mrs. Son of Odin." 

She smiled. "Thank you. Though I think legally he took my name." 

Pepper tilted her head and sipped her wine. "Thor Foster sounds like the punchline of a raunchy joke." 

He chuckled. "Shall we go down and stand on the Wife Line?" 

"Let's." The women stood and they filed out to the elevator to head to the hanger level. 

They waited downstairs for the jet to make it's appearance. The landing was a little awkward, the pilot wasn't as good as he was. "Thank you for the company today," he said. 

"You're welcome any time," Jane said. 

"You owe me a rematch or four," Darcy agreed. 

The engines went off, and the back ramp of the jet slid down. Barnes and Rogers were the first ones off the jet. Barnes had lost a lot of the wary stiffness he'd had when he first moved in. From what Nat had said, it sounded like the mission had gone well, partly thanks to him. Clint was pretty sure they'd be sending him out more often now. 

Nat was the next one off, her cat suit half unzipped and rolled down to reveal a tank top. She grinned when she saw him and hustled the last few feet to reach him quicker. He grinned at her. It hadn't been 24 hours, but if felt like longer. He lifted her off the ground when she reached him. 

She rested her chin on his shoulder, sighing deeply. "Hi honey, I'm home." 

He nuzzled her neck. "Got all your pieces?" 

"All the ones I left with." 

"I think I'm going to inspect them anyway, just in case." 

She leaned back and kissed him. "I expected as much. How are you?" 

"Right now, I'm perfect." He slid his arm around her waist, picked up her bag, and pulled her toward the door. Someone wolf whistled at them as they headed out. he was pretty sure it was Darcy but didn't look back to check. 

* 

_Somewhere over China, 2012_

Nat had been reading the same sentence for the last twenty minutes. 

She'd grabbed the book in the airport, rushing to catch her flight to Bombay. It was a long trip from Russia and she'd thought she could use distraction. Unfortunately, if had not proved distracting enough. 

Resisting the urge to throw the stupid thing, she rested her forehead against the chilly plane window and squinted down at the darkness below. She wasn't entirely sure those henchmen had quite deserved as vicious a beating as she'd given them. But she'd been overcome with what she could only describe as raw panic, a pure gut emotion that she had to channel somehow. Else she was going to do something even worse, like cry. 

And now they were sending her to go wrangle Dr. Banner. She was pretty sure all the panic in the world wouldn't help her if he decided he didn't want to be recruited. She would much rather be in the States, trying to track down Clint and the alien who had him. But Coulson said this was how she could help. So she would do this until another opportunity presented itself. 

They'd had a new phone with her SHIELD account on it waiting for her on the flight. At the end of any mission where she went dark, reconnecting with the network and watching Clint's random texts download was one of her favorite decompression moments. Now they felt like they were taunting her. 

_So I think two of the scientists are doing it._

_This is a new level of boredom I've achieved._

_You think we're as obvious as these people clearly are?_

_I don't even care. I'm a nicer person when you're around. Makes the rest of the world tolerable._

She rubbed her thumb against the edge of the phone. She dearly wanted to write back to him, but there was no point. At best his phone was underneath a bunch of rocks in the New Mexico desert. At worst it was still with him and could somehow be used against her or SHEILD if the Asgardian got a hold of it. So all she could really do was sit here and stare at the screen and tell herself these were not his last words to her.  
 She was not going to let them be his last words. 

Tired, she scrubbed her eyes with her eyes with her hands. She had to negotiate with and manipulate a man who could turn into a monster at the drop of a hat. She could not afford to be this rattled. This distracted. She'd been more clearheaded the times she'd thought she was dying than she was right now. 

Because, of course, this wasn't about her, this was about him. Clint. All these years they'd had each other's backs and the one time he needed her- 

No. She shook her head sharply. She was never going to settle herself if that's the path her thoughts took. He was alive. Compromised, under some sort of control she couldn't begin to fathom, but alive. She would work with alive. She had to. 

It occurred to her this was probably how he had felt when she'd been shot all those years ago. This panicky, out of control feeling. At least she hadn't had to steal a jet. Yet. 

By the time she got to Kolkata, she'd managed to get her thoughts focused enough. She had a team to lead and most of these guys were pretty damn twitchy at having to possibly take down the Hulk. She knew he was working as a doctor, and that his kindness would be the easiest way to bait him. It didn't quite sit, but it was the best she had. 

Bribery was a sacred time honored tradition, especially in the poorer parts of the world. It was easy to find a family willing to rent them their home and daughter for an evening. Nat paid them handsomely, enough they probably wouldn't have to worry about money for a year or more. It made it sit a little better, at least. Clint would have approved. If not the method, then her attempts to make it worth the local's while. 

At first she thought it wouldn't be too hard, once she'd lured him to her chose location, and started to work her magic. She was almost entirely honest, which was rare for her, but the situation called for it. Then he scared her—because her skin was thinner than she thought right now—and she gave herself away. 

"Just you and me?" Banner asked, echoing her words, with sarcasm in his voice. 

She sighed, and closed her eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. 

Dr. Banner sighed, his voice weary. "It's all right. I know everyone is a afraid of me. I certainly earned it." 

She sighed again, shifting her shawl around her shoulders. "It's not - We've already lost agents to this thing. Good agents. We couldn't take any more chances." 

"You did take a chance. You could have a hundred agents out there. Maybe you do. The Other Guy would have killed them all if he wanted to. Just as a general rule, the less people you put in my path the better." He reached out to take her phone from the table, too look at the picture of the Tesseract she'd pulled up. 

She watched him, taking long, deep breaths and waiting for her heart to slow down. Because what she needed tonight was a major adrenaline rush. 

He looked up at her again. "So how were you planning on persuading me? Don't say flirting. You might be young enough to be my daughter." 

That made her smile. "That doesn't actually give most men pause." 

"Well. I might be a monster, but I'm not a lech." 

"That's very reassuring." She folded her hands on her lap. "I was going to start with the prospect of scientific discovery." 

"I'm not interested in building a bomb." 

"At this point our only goal is to get it out of the very bad hands it's in and back into ours. What we do with it from there is still negotiable. For what it's worth I don't believe Selvig and the others were trying to build a bomb either, just understand it." 

"Messing with forces you don't understand is dangerous. I'm proof of that." 

Hard to argue with that. She'd have sent the damn thing back to the bottom of the ocean, given the choice. "If scientific inquiry didn't work I was supposed to have one of the men out their tranq you and take you in by force." He looked at her sharply. "I'm not going to. For all manner of reasons, but I do have one other method of persuasion." 

He lifted his eyebrows. "My curiosity is piqued." 

This was the gamble. The big risk for which she had no other contingency plans. If this failed she was going back to the States empty handed. She reached up and pulled the ear piece out of her ear and used the small bowl on the table to crush it so that no one could hear what she was about to say. 

 Standing, she plucked the phone out of Banner's hand and brought up her text messages so that Clint's last words were on the screen. Then she handed it back. "Clint Barton was compromised by the man who stole the Tesseract. He is still alive and under enemy control. He's been my partner - by several definitions of the term - for seven years now. If you don't help us our odds of recovering him go down significantly." She paused. "Please help us." 

Banner looked up at her, his eyes searching her face. She swallowed with some difficulty, but held his gaze. He put the phone back into her hand, and folded both of his over hers. "Love is a worthy cause." 

She didn't correct him. Didn't even try to speak for fear the tears that had been threatening since Coulson's call would finally spill over. She just managed a weak smile and a nod of thanks. 

He gave a single, sharp nod in response. "Shall we? Not a moment to lose, I'd think." 

Tucking her phone away she preceded him out of the hut, giving the other agents the all clear signal. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next deal with a major event in my solo Bucky/OFC vic _My Scars, They are Your Scars_. We have made every effort to ensure you can read this fic without having to read the other. However, if you'd like to see "the other side" of events, so to speak, that's where it'll be found.

_Columbia, 2015_

Tromping through the jungle was not Clint's favorite thing to do, but he had to admit the company was entertaining. And for some strange reason, there were far fewer bugs than had been in his jungle experiences in the past. 

"This area must be really aggressively hosed with pesticides," Nat muttered beside him. She was generally a mosquito magnet.

"No, that's me," Stark said. He rapped his chest. "The reactor repels bugs."

She peered around Clint to look at him. "You're kidding. Screw your cheap, plentiful energy market _that_."

"We do," he replied. "We have a program in Africa distributing them to remote areas. Power your whole village, and bring down malaria rates in a mile radius." He glanced over at her. "Sometimes it works. Sometimes the warlords take them to build weapons."

"You could put self destruct devices in them," she suggested. "Mr. Warlord doesn't have the right deactivate code and-" Nat made an exploding noise and mimed said explosion with her hands.

"You and Pepper need to talk about more than underwear brands," Stark told her.

"When you get the bill for the hospital you're building in the Ukraine, you'll realize we do."

Clint chuckled. Behind him Rogers and Barnes were having a discussion about how they were glad neither of them had fought in the pacific in WWII. He was not alone in hating the jungle.

"I mean, at least the snow melted at some point," Rogers was saying. "Here it's _always_ hot."

"Plus diseases," Barnes muttered, turning his head to scan behind them. Clint had heard him speak more on this mission then he had in the nine months the other man had been living in the Tower. Mostly to Rogers, but it was a start.

"I wouldn't think you'd mind an excuse to visit the infirmary," Stark called back to them.

Clint kind of expected a silent death glare at that. But without even turning to look at Stark Barnes replied, "Nothing sexy about yellow fever and jungle rot."

There was a sound—a snap or a click. He couldn't quite place it. But he just caught it, and it didn't quite belong. It took a second for it to process through his brain. "Shit. Hit the deck!" He grabbed Nat by the arm as he ducked himself, just as something exploded over them.

The rest of them scattered, ducking into the underbrush as the clatter of gunfire split the jungle air. Barnes and Rogers had been at the back of the group and now had Barnes' rifle propped on the top of Rogers’ shield, returning fire quickly and precisely.

They were on their way back from a successful mission, and they hadn't left anyone at the HYDRA base alive. So none of them had any idea what this was, but it was fast, and it was brutal.

During a break in the return fire Rogers yelled for the to retreat. Stark laid down a line of those shoulder missiles as cover and they moved, trying to make to the jet before the enemy regrouped. Barnes and Rogers stayed at the back, but Clint tried to keep them in sight as they moved.

The jet was in sight before automatic weapons fire rattled again, far closer than Clint was comfortable with. From behind him he heard Rogers bellow his name, with real fear in his voice.

He met Nat's gaze and they had one of those instant, silent conversations that made them such good partners. She turned and planted herself, guns up. "Stark! Get the jet ready." Nat nodded to Clint and mouthed "go."

He swung his bow back over his shoulder, paying more attention to staying down and moving fast. She'd cover him. They weren't that far behind him. Barnes was on the ground, Rogers hovering over him, blood everywhere. Enough blood that if he were a regular person, Clint would be certain it was fatal. But Barnes had survived a 200 foot fall. Supersoldiers and all. 

"Help me," Rogers said, voice tight. He crouched and rolled Barnes towards him to get an arm under his shoulders. 

"Got it," he replied, and together they lifted him up. Rogers could carry him alone, Clint was sure, but he was as rattled as he'd ever seen him. They hauled him back to the jet. The engines were running, and as soon as they were in sight, Stark launched another missile into the jungle behind them. 

Climt heard Nat curse as they passed her and she was right behind them getting into the jet. Clint helped Rogers lower Barnes to the floor of the passenger area. Nat was already dragging the enormous first aid kit over as he headed to the pilot's seat. She was ordering Rogers around like a general as Stark raised the gangplank and Clint got ready for lift off.

"Everybody hang on," he yelled into the back. "We're going to burn as hard as we can." He had to get above commercial air traffic, and just hope nobody shot them down. There was no time to negotiate with air traffic control.

Dimly, he could still hear Nat talking, short and clipped, as she worked on Barnes. She had extensive knowledge of field medicine, if no actual med school under her belt. She'd patched him up more times than he could count, at least long enough to get to base. If anyone could keep Barnes alive till New York, it was her.

He'd reached altitude and was headed for home at full burn when Stark came up, mostly de-suited, and called into the Tower to warn the med crew.

"How is he?" Clint asked quietly.

"There's a lot of blood." Stark's voice was just as soft. "She has half the gauze in the kit packed into him, seems to have helped. He's still breathing, at least."

"The serum has got to help. Rogers bounced back up from hits that have killed either of us in New York."

"If that were either of us there'd be a priest waiting at the Tower not a doctor." Stark glanced back at the passenger area, then thumped his head on the back of the chair. "But what do I know? I put machines together, not people."

"You think Doc will be all right?" Clint asked after a moment.

None of them were entirely sure what Barnes' relationship was with the Doc. Neither of them were talkers. But it was obvious he spent a lot of time in the infirmary with her. And a video of her defense of him after a mission gone wrong had been passed around to the joy and amusement of all. But none of that was evidence of anything certain.

"I think she's tougher than you'd think, but it can't be easy to see someone you care about bleeding and in pain. Cap looks like he's about to pass out or vomit. Hopefully, her training will get her through."

"It only gets you so far. Then panic can make you do all sorts of dumb things."

The other man nodded. "Speaking from experience?"

"Nat got shot once. I stole a plane."

"That seems like a perfectly reasonable reaction," Stark said. And the best part was, he sounded sincere.

He glanced back and Nat, watching her monitor Barnes's vitals like she _had_ been to medical school. "They hold up under way more pressure than we do."

Stark followed his gaze and, apparently, his line of thought. "The amount of shit Pepper handles with an exasperated sigh and fake smile astounds me."

"Doc'll be fine," he said after a moment. "But we should probably get some Bourbon for Steve."

"That," Stark said. "That I can do."

*

_SHIELD Helicarrier, Undisclosed location, 2012_

Natasha took Dr. Banner to the laboratory that had been set up for him. "If you need anything at all, you can call me from this panel hear, and I'll do my best to get it."

He nodded. "Thank you." He looked up at her. "Don't worry. I'll find them."

She nodded. "Thank you." Glancing at the open door, she added quietly. "Barton and my relationship isn't exactly common knowledge so your discretion is appreciated."

He inclined his head. "Your secret is safe with me."

"Thank you," she said again. "I'll leave you to it. We have a lot of guests to see to." He nodded, already turning back to the consoles as she made herself scarce.  
 She figured Rogers could handle himself for the moment, so she found an empty break room and sat, not bothering to turn the lights on. She needed a moment of quiet for herself.

It wasn't long before she sensed someone in the doorway. She looked up to see Coulson standing there. "I don't expect you'll sleep, but we've got quarters for you if you'd like a door that closes."

That did have appeal. It seemed awfully far away right now. "Maybe in a minute."

He came into the room, and sat across from her. "Loki seems to have some sort of mind control abilities. He has a scepter of some sort, with a blue glowing end. Hold it against your chest, and suddenly you do what he wants. That's how it seemed, how Fury described it. Most of the people down there he killed. He took Selvig and Barton. There had to be a reason."

"Tactics," she said, feeling oddly numb and detached. "He's not familiar with this planet. He needs Selvig to make theTesseract work and Clint to make whatever his plan is work."

Coulson sighed. "I suppose there are worse people he could have taken. Not, like, a lot. Barton could break into Fort Knox with a slingshot and a paperclip."

"And he knows us. Out tactics. Who we'll send. We''re not going to be able to get a drop on them."

"Unless he lets us."

Nat had been given no indication that Clint was anything less than 100% compromised. But if Coulson was trying to offer her hope she was willing to pretend. "Maybe."

"He shot Fury. Loki ordered him to kill. Shot him once in the chest from ten feet away." 

She looked over at him. "In the chest?"

"Yes. A man who could probably make a headshot with a flintlock pistol from a hundred yards."

Greatest Marksman in the world. It would be on his business card, were they allowed to have any. "Clint once joked he thought Fury slept in Kevlar."

"I know," he said quietly. "So. . . makes me think some part of him is still in there, however small it might be. It's something."

The thought made her smile a little. A real, honest smile, not the painful ones she'd managed for Banner. "It is something."

"How are you holding up?" he asked, concern in his voice.

Kindness was hard. She really didn't want people being kind and concerned. Banner had been all right. It served a purpose and he had enough demons to not push her. If Coulson started fussing or- God forbid - hugged her, she might start crying. Or screaming and throwing things. It was an even split. "I'm putting one foot in front of the other," she said, staring at a blank space on the wall. "It's better when I have something to do. Getting Banner was distracting, at least."

"Thank you for doing that, and not stealing the plane we sent for you."

"I'm a moderate pilot at best I wouldn't have been able to out run you. And you said we needed Banner. I like to stack the odds, even if it means delaying my immediate inclinations."

"If you need anything. . ."

"I know where to find you," she said quietly.

He was silent for a few moments, before saying, "When I came upon him napping in your hospital bed all those years ago, I had a whole lecture ready to go. But you two have kept it quiet far better and far longer than I expected."

"Denial helps." She'd been in denial of one thing or another for most of the relationship. "We had rules." That they broke with increasing regularity. "And part of it's just the way we are. We're private people. Not going to lay it out for everyone to see." She paused. "I told Banner, actually. To get him to come in."

"That's unlike you. To reveal personal details to a target."

"My usual methods weren't going to cut it. He needed a real reason to come in. At the time it was the only one I could think of that mattered."

"For you, right now, it probably is."

Her chest tightened up and she took a few deep breaths to ease it. "Maybe I will try to sleep."

He reached out and squeezed her arm. "It'll pass some time. I promise to wake you up if we learn anything."

She nodded and stood. "Thank you," she said quietly.

He stood to. "When we find him, there are going to be a lot of people who want to ask questions. Who want to. . . who knows. You know how SHIELD is."

More than most, possibly. "I'll have his back," she said firmly.

Coulson smiled a little. "And I'll have yours."

Impulsively, she leaned over and pecked his cheek. "Thanks, Boss."

"Get some sleep," he told her.

She nodded and stepped past him, out of the room. She looked up her quarters assignment on one the computer terminal. They were rather out of the way. She imagined Coulson had arranged that on purpose. When she found her way there, her bag had already been delivered. There wasn't much in it; the things she took on missions were sparse. But it did have a fresh suit and her gauntlets. A few personal items. The t-shirt Clint had tossed to her with a laugh just before they'd checked out of the hotel in DC.

Picking up the shirt, she sat onto the bed and brought it to her face, inhaling his scent still clinging to the cotton. That finally made the tears spill over, just a stream of hot droplets, rolling down her cheek and into the cotton. She didn't sob, didn't wail, just let them come. She didn't like feeling things. It made her soft. Made her weak. She didn't want to feel hurt, and fear.

But, she supposed it was a trade for the good. The laughter. The pleasure. The affection she had with Clint. She wasn't about to trade all that to save herself pain. Of course, thinking like that didn't help the tears at all. But it made her a little less annoyed at them.

She locked the door, stripping down to her underwear and putting the t-shirt on. She wiped her eyes and sniffled indelicately before climbing into the less-than-comfortable bunk. They'd find him. They had to.

*

_Stark Tower, New York City, 2015_

Clint didn't remember most of the flight back home. Either they were very lucky or someone at base had cleared them with air traffic control, because no one bothered him and he was cleared for landing immediately.

This time the only person manning the Wife Line was a thin young man in a white coat manning an empty gurney. He registered as kid to Clint, but spoke with authority as he helped him and Rogers get Barnes on the cot and interrogated Nat on his injuries.

He asked Rogers and Clint to come with him to help moving Barnes again and so they raced to the elevator down to the fortieth floor. Clint had had no idea how well equipped they were for such an injury. But sure enough they wheeled Barnes into a proper operating room, lined with all manner of equipment. A cluster of people in scrubs and masks were waiting for them. He recognized the Doc by her glasses and scar. She barely seemed to register any of them but Barnes and the look in her eyes when she saw him was heartbreaking.

It only lasted a moment, then they moved Barnes onto the table and it was clear that Clint was superfluous. Rogers showed no indication of leaving, so Clint grabbed the gurney and let himself out, leaving them to work.

There had to be a waiting room somewhere. All doctors had waiting rooms. He lived in the building, he could just go back upstairs. But instead he wandered about a bit, until he found the room where the rest of them were all gathering.

Nat had taken her cat suit off and was slowly turning a white towel red as she cleaned her hands off. Stark had shed the rest of his suit and was pacing with his hands behind his back. They both looked over when he came in. "They're doing what they can. Doc hit the ground running." 

"She seemed okay?" Nat asked, tossing the towel aside.

"I think so. I hope so. Rogers stayed in there to hover."

Stark sank into a chair and Nat stood. She crossed the room to Clint and wrapped her arms around him. "I did what I could."

He kissed her temple. "You got him here alive. The rest is up to them."

She nodded and pillowed her head on his chest. "Bruce is on his way up. And I think someone should call Sam. Stave will need someone to talk to if. . . Well, if it's bad."

"I'll take care of it," Stark said from behind her. 

Clint offered him a nod of thanks, and then said, "How about I get us some coffee?"

After that, all there was to do was wait.

Rogers appeared after about an hour, escorted by one of Doc's people. She had apparently made Captain America wear scrubs in her OR. 

Steve sank into a chair and sighed. "She stopped the worst of the bleeding. Got him stable. She was looking for the bullets. Said it would take a while to finish everything but. . . I think she seemed hopeful."

"Do you need anything?" Clint asked. "Sam's coming up."

That got a very grateful look. "Thanks. I think I should probably eat something."

"We could all probably do with food," Nat agreed.

Stark looked upward. "JARVIS. Make food happen."

"Right away sir."

Twenty minutes later, Pepper came down with sandwiches and drinks for everyone. Not long after that Sam showed up. Jane stuck her head in to tell them Thor was still out of contact on Asgard, but she wanted to know if anyone needed anything while they waited. 

"I think those who were on the mission could really use a shower," Banner commented, looking pointedly at Clint and Nat, who were both covered in now-dried blood. Rogers had at least cleaned up some when putting on the scrubs.

He could see Nat about to protest, but Pepper interrupted. "JARVIS will inform you immediately if anything changes. Heart surgery takes a long time, believe me. There's no reason you can’t take time to clean up."

Nat sighed and slowly got to her feet. "A change of clothes would probably make me feel better."

Clint stood up as well. "Agreed. We'll be back in a bit."

"You too," Pepper said to Stark.

"I don't have any blood on me."

"No, but you do smell like a man who spent many hours inside a tin can."

"Your candor is why I love you," he told her, kissing the top of her head as he stood. He passed Rogers on the way to the door and clapped a hand on the other man's shoulder. "Hang in there. We'll be back in a bit."


	17. Chapter 17

The three of them rode the elevator in silence. Clint and Nat got off on their floor, and walked to their apartment in the same silence. 

London greeted them at the door with imperious meowing and Nat crumpled to the floor to pet the cat, murmuring some sort of Russian baby-talk to her. He stood beside her, stroking her hair with his fingertips, just waiting.

Finally, she gave London one last kiss on her head and stood again. "Do you think we'll both fit in the shower at the same time?"

"Later," he said, sliding in his hand into her hair and using it to pull her close enough to kiss. She gave a little gasp, but wrapped her arms around his shoulders, kissing him back roughly. He backed her up until they hit the wall, her back thumping against it. He tugged her hair again, so she'd look up when he broke the kiss. "Unless you'd rather shower." 

"No," she said softly. "This is a much better idea."

He crouched down to take her boots off, then stood to kiss her again. He reached for the bottom half of her catsuit and shoved it down. Gripping his arms for support, she stepped out of it and kicked it aside. She wore a tank under the top, but only a pair of her lacy panties on the bottom. He slid a hand down over her ass as she got to work on his own suit.

Desire coursed through his veins, fed by the stress and adrenaline and worry of the last few hours. He let her wrestle his vest and shirt off, but then he caught her hands and pinned them against the wall. She bucked a little and he pressed harder. He didn't want this gentle and slow. He wanted to remember he was alive.

She stopped struggling, watching him with her lips parted, breath coming fast. When he bent his head to kiss her she bit lightly, arching into the press of his body. Deciding he was too beat up from the mission to fuck her against the wall, he picked her up instead, to carry back to the bedroom. She wrapped her legs around him and he dropped them both on the bed. He held her wrists over her head just long enough to feel between the headboard and the mattress for one of the ties he knew was back there. He could feel as much as hear her sharp intake of breath when she realized what he was doing.

They'd gone through a number of ties in the last few months. Nat was stronger than she looked and fine boned enough to wriggle out of any knot he was willing to use on her. She had eventually found soft leather cuffs they could attach to the headboard. They didn't leave any marks, held her securely but were flexible enough she could unbuckle them if she had to, in case of some freak emergency or accident.

He fastened one, then the other, pinning her hands above her head, forcing her back to arch, Her breath had quickened as he'd worked and she watched him expectantly. It was only then that he realized she was still wearing her tank top, which would have had to go upwards. He flicked a glance at her face, then grabbed the neckline in two hands and ripped it clean in half. The little moan she gave indicated her approval—but underneath it was a sports bra. They weren't quite as cheap as the tank tops. "Can I destroy it?" 

She lifted her head a little, craning to look down at it. "Yes. Thank you for checking."

He couldn't rip it, so he reached for the knife still strapped to his leg. Her eyes widened and she stared at it. The back of it pressed against her skin as he nudged the tip under the bra between her breasts and sliced upwards through the fabric.

She didn't move an inch, but he saw her watching every move of the knife. He knew it wasn't worry, if there was one thing he was certain of it was her trust in him. When he gaze went back to his her eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with arousal. He kissed her and she nearly devoured him, but he only let it go on for a moment. Then he leaned back to cut her panties off, too. Her thighs spread over his, he could see how wet she was. He bent back over her and whispered against her mouth. "You like the knife."

Nodding a little, she said, "Yes," softly, lips brushing his.

"I'll remember that," he replied, before tossing it onto the nightstand. For now he wanted to enjoy the fact that she was sprawled naked beneath him, tied down and completely at his mercy. But he also desperately wanted her, and didn't want to wait another second as she arched up against him in her own impatience. He let her grind against the rough fabric of the pants he was still wearing while he bent to kiss her breasts. He scraped one nipple with his teeth.

She sucked in a breath, bucking at the sensation. He heard the creak of leather as she twisted her wrists in their bonds. "Please."

"Begging won't help you," he replied, even though that was a lie. Just the desperate tone in her voice was turning him inside out. But he liked making her beg, liked reminding her she wasn't in control.

Her lower lip thrust out in a bit of a pout and she lifted her hips to grind on him again. "You didn't say I couldn't talk."

He did that sometimes, but not now. Now he wanted to hear every sound, even her desperate whimpers as he moved to the other breast. Their after-mission adrenaline was one thing, the games they played another—something designed to elevate the ordinary. They'd never mixed them before. But he and Nat no longer had many rules. 

A very sharp tug on her nipple got him another gasp and more begging. Her hips rocked, and he whispered, "Is it that bad?"

She gave another little whimper before admitting, "It aches," in a soft, desperate voice.

The talking, too, could be about letting go. He reached over her and yanked open the nightstand drawer on her side. Some of the contents of The Box had migrated in there. He fished out the tiny vibrator she had in there. The box had quite a selection, but he liked the little one. He turned it on, cranked it deliberately high, and then pressed it against her clit. He felt her whole body jerk as she went from not enough to too much in an instant.

"Oh, fuck," she breathed, jerking again. She squirmed away from it, then pressed close again, obviously preferring too much stimulation to none. Her whimpers took on a new level of desperation and he watched her nipples tighten and flush. She fought her cuffs in earnest now, body shaking with little jolts that weren't quite orgasms but only made her ache more.

He had teased her with this thing an entire night once, barely touching her except with the little nub of plastic. It had been incredible, watching her go wild again and again under his hand.

"Be careful what you wish for," he told her, as she choked on a sound that was a half-sob. But then he turned it down, just a little, just right. He wanted her to come, he didn't trust himself to wait once he was inside her.

Once he had the speed dialed in properly, her hips started to rock in a smooth, natural rhythm. Her whimpers turned to moans, punctuated occasionally by his name or quiet pleas. He knew she was close when her head fell back and her hips froze. He put his free hand on her belly in time to feel the muscles tighten and then she was coming, back frozen in an arch, a low wail ripped from her throat.

He watched her ride it out for a moment, distractedly fighting with his fly he got it open and shoved her legs wider so he could thrust inside her. It was hard and probably too rough, but he wasn't in control anymore, either. He kept the vibrator between them, knowing what it's unrelenting pulse did to her.

She cried out, but her legs wrapped around him eagerly. She fluttered around with the tail end of the orgasm and as he started to move it seems that his thrusts plus the continued torment of the vibrator was too much. She fought her bonds and she whispered, "I can't ,I can't. Clint, please." Then the flutters turned to spasms and she was bucking against him wildly.

He pounded into her, listening to her cries as he pulled one of her legs up roughly, pushing it high so he could get deeper. She was lost in her long, intense climax and he let himself get lost it it, too. He could hear her begging him for no more, to stop, but she'd say the safe word if she meant it. He didn't move the vibrator, or slow down, even though he knew he was going to leave bruises. When it was finally too much, he came so hard all the sounds and sensations blurred—though not enough he didn't notice her clenching around him one last time.

When he'd come back to himself he could still feel pulsing and realized it was the vibrator. He shifted enough to dislodge it and Nat gave a shaky, shuddering sigh of relief. She had her face pressed into his throat, breathing hard, hair damp with sweat.

"We're still alive," he whispered into her hair.

He heard her swallow, but she nodded. "Yes, we are." He reached up to uncuff her hands, and she immediately wrapped her arms around him. He rolled them so she was sprawled out on top of him, limp as a rag doll. They'd both come up here knowing they'd do this, but even he hadn't quite expected sex like _that_. He couldn't even think of anything else to say, so he just rubbed her damp back as they breathed.

After a while, she pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "I love you," she whispered into his skin.

He nuzzled her hair. "I love you. Especially right now."

She chuckled. "That was pretty good."

"Have you every thought about doing it the other way?"

"Me tying you up?"

He shifted to look at her, because he couldn't read her voice. "I know that's not how your whole thing goes, but. . ."

She shrugged. "If you wanted to try it I'd be game, but I have no great urge for it. I've done it on jobs, though that was more whips and spike heels than what we do here." She looked up at him. "This is sexy and exciting because it's different and takes me out of my comfort zone. I don't know if dominating you would be the same."

"Maybe not. I just think it would be hot."

That got him a wicked smile. "Well. It couldn't hurt to try."

He slid his hand into her hair. "We keep talking about. . . being other people. Maybe they have a different kink."

"You think Tash Bartlet ties up Clint on a regular basis?" Nat asked with a grin. "'Cause I can totally see that about her."

"I agree. Though their friends would be scandalized."

"Oh, of course. No one wants to know the queen of the bake sale owns cuffs and nipple clamps."

He stroked his hand down over her ass and gave it a little squeeze. "For the moment, how about we take that shower?"

"Mmm, yes." She stretched and rolled off him. "Get back down there before it's too obvious what we've been up to."

He watched her grimace a little as she stood. He shouldn't be as proud as he was that he'd apparently made her sore, but he knew she liked it. "It's big enough for both of us the share."

She turned and gave him an incredulous look over her shoulder. "Pineapple."

He laughed her tone of voice and held up his hands. "No, I agree. Just a shower. Sharing is still fun."

Squinting suspiciously, she held out a hand to help him up. "Okay. But if you get frisky I will defend myself."

"Honey, I'd need at least a half an hour. Not as young as I was a decade ago, and the tank is empty." 

"Oh, like you need your cock to wind me up."

He climbed out of the bed, herding her towards the bathroom. "No, but it is usually in charge of my motivation in that department."

They showered without incident. She even let him scrub her back and wash her hair for her. Then they dried off and dressed in comfortable clothes before heading back down to the infirmary floor to wait with the others.

"You don't all have to stay down here," Rogers said at one point.

Stark looked up from the book he was reading. "Yes we do."

"Worrying about someone is easier with company," Nat told him. "Even if you don't particularly like company." Banner had brought up a deck of cards and she was perched on the chair next to him "helping" him play solitaire. Clint was concerned they were going to see the Other Guy soon.

Thor showed up about that time, and the rest of them manufactured some distraction out of teaching him to play poker. It seemed a crime he'd never learned. He probably shouldn't play with others, though. His poker face was terrible, it would be way too easy to clean him out.

The door opened again, and Clint was surprised to see Hill in the doorway. "I heard there was a vigil."

"There is," Thor told her. "We are playing poker."

"Badly," Jane added.

Hill came in and took a seat. "Deal me in."

"I thought you didn't like him," Steve commented. 

"I'm not always right. I only pretend to be."

Poker got a little cutthroat, so they moved onto gin rummy, then Thor tried to teach them some Asgardian game that was damn near incomprehensible and he might have been making up on the fly.

Then Doc Newbury appeared in the doorway and everyone stopped to look at her. She was out of her scrubs, but looked rumpled and tired, hair in a messy bun that was threatening to unravel entirely. She gave a little start of surprise when she saw how crowded the room was and Clint noticed she stiffened her spine up a bit.

She cleared her throat. “He’s fine. Stable. Both bullets fragmented so it took time to remove them but I’m confident I got it all. We’re moving him to one of the exam rooms off the infirmary so I can keep an eye on him.”

The tension in the room drained noticeably. Rogers hopped up to talk to her quietly as the rest of them exchanged looks of relief.

Rogers was back a few moments later. "It's just a matter of recovery now, which may take some time." He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked around the room. "Thank you. All of you."

"We're a team, Cap," Stark said. "Dysfunctional as hell, maybe, but all the best families are."

*

_SHIELD Helicarrier, Undisclosed location, 2012_

Nat's hands were shaking as she walked out of the detention room. She should reconvene with everyone at the lab. Now that they knew Banner was the target Fury would want as many eyes on him as possible. Instead of hustling down the catwalk she gripped the top rail of the walkway and leaned forward, breathing deep to get her heart to slow down.

_. . . slowly. Intimately. . ._

No. Focus Natasha. He doesn't have permission to get under your skin. He is not the first megalomaniacal shithead you've dealt with and he won't be the last. The fact he has a glowy magic stick doesn't change how very, very small and weak he was.

She missed Clint. He'd have something dry and snarky to say about him. Something to put it all in perspective. Right now all she had was her own thoughts and they were not in a good place.

If Loki made him hurt her, he would know exactly how. How to get under all her armor, to where she was the most vulnerable. Unlike pretty much anyone on earth, he could break her.

Loki had said it as a threat, but she was pretty sure after that Clint would welcome the skull splitting.

Don't think about it. Not gonna happen. She was getting him back or she was going to kill him in the process.

Finally she felt steady enough to move and slowly released the rail. The cat walk clanged under her feet as she strode back to the labs. One foot in front of the other. It was the only was she was going to get through this.

The confrontation in the lab did not improve her mood. Everyone's tempers had apparently dialed up to 11, and suddenly they were all at each other's throats. In retrospect, she should have known the scepter was doing something to their heads long before Banner picked it up. No one in the room was exactly known for tact or humility, but the way Stark and Rogers had immediately started getting personal wasn't like either of them. Then Rogers started offering to go a few rounds, which was the opposite of what she'd expect from Captain America.

All that became a moot point once the floor dropped out from under her and she found herself pinned beneath metal with a broken or at least very badly sprained ankle and a decidedly green looking Dr. Banner.

Nat had a good grip on her fear, usually. Letting it get out of control was always bad, and she'd long learned to muzzle it so she could remain clear-headed. But there was something about the Hulk that connected right into her lizard brain. And suddenly all she could feel was the cold, panicked, brain-dulling fear of being chased by a predator.

Like so much of her life it had come down to her speed versus her opponent's strength. She was also helped by the fact she knew the helicarrier layout. Smart as Banner was, the Other Guy seemed to depend on his size and force above anything resembling strategy. Her ankle and her fear slowed her down, though. She supposed the smartest mouse in the world still ended up helpless in front of a determined cat. If Thor hadn't shown up when he did. . .well, she tried not to think of that.

She sat against the bulkhead, curled in a ball, blank minded with fear and adrenaline backwash. Then her comm crackled and she heard Fury's voice.

"It's Barton. He took out our systems; he's headed for the detention level. Does anybody copy?"

It was the first thing that got through the panicked haze since Banner had cast her that look of regret in his last moment of clarity. Clint. Clint was on the helicarrier. And if anybody but her got to him he was going to take a bullet to the head. No one was going to try to take him out the gentle way. No one but her, anyway.

Still shaking, she pressed a hand to her earpiece to turn it on. "This is Romanov. I copy."

He was easy to find, striding along the catwalk without any sense of stealth.

It was the most terrifying fight of her life. They had sparred before. Dozens of times. Hundreds, maybe. Nine times out of ten they ended up naked at the end of it. They knew each other’s moves as well as their own. Which was probably why style and talent went out the window pretty quick and they degraded to hair pulling.

Yet, even with that blade coming closer to her chest, it occurred to her that it had started out in his right, only switching to the left when forced. It gave her a little bit of hope that he was still in there.

Didn't mean she didn't bite him as hard as she could, though.

The sound his head made when it hit the rail made her wince, and she stood stock still as he struggled to get up. She hoped she hadn't done him brain damage. Then he looked at her, with what it took her a moment to realize were _his_ eyes, devoid of the strange bright blue cast. Before he'd looked blank. Now he looked confused, though just the fact that any emotion registered on his face seemed miraculous. 

He blinked up at her. "Tasha?"

She didn't trust the relief that poured through her. Didn't trust this to be so easy after the day she was having. So she pulled back and punched him, knocking him out for good.

More agents arrived a few minutes later. Maybe Fury hadn't been confident at her ability to handle Clint. She retrieved Clint's bow and watched the others drag him away as Fury's voice came over the comm again. "Agent Coulson is down." In response someone she didn't recognize said they'd send paramedics.

"They're already here. They called it."

The air rushed out of her with a sound that was almost a sob. Knowing Coulson he'd gone out well. Doing something that needed to be done. He might not have had the same kind of jobs she and Clint did but he'd probably expected to go out on mission. Still, it hurt. She'd been looking forward to telling him she got Clint back. To have him tease them about their relationship more.

Clint was going to blame himself. For everything, but especially for Phil. 

The other agents were dragging Clint down the catwalk, so she made herself turn and follow them. They took him into a detention room, and cuffed him to the bed. 

"We'll send medical when there's time," one of them said, not particularly kindly. "But they've got a lot of wounded to see to first."

"It's fine," she said, ready to usher him out. "I'll watch him."

"We were going to have the door bolted and guards posted," the other one said. "You shouldn't be in here."

"I'm sure they have better things to do." She crossed her arms and arched a brow at him, then looked at the door expectantly.

They looked at each other, and she could see them waring between what was their protocol and the prospect of picking a fight with the Black Widow. The left without a word-- but they did lock her in there with him, and a guard quickly appeared outside the door.

There was a chair by the bed and she sank into it, suddenly feeling all her aches and pains. He ankle throbbed and she stretched her leg out with a sigh, leaning her head back against the seat. There were probably a dozen other things she should be doing. She didn't even know what had happened to the rest of them. Who had won the Thor-Hulk fight. But there was no way in hell she was going anywhere before he woke up.


	18. Chapter 18

He lurched up right at one point, fighting his bonds and mumbling nonsense. She talked to him calmly, using his name. She told him he was going to be all right, and he snarled back, "You know that? Is that what you know?"

Well, nastier than she would have liked, but a coherent sentence was progress. She stood and moved to pour a glass of water. "You gotta level out. It's gonna take time," she said, keeping her voice calm and neutral.

"You don't understand," he said, and when she looked he was staring at the ceiling. "Have you ever had someone take your brain and play? Pull you out, stuff something else in." He finally looked at her. "You know what it's like to be unmade."

She wasn't entirely certain if that was a question or an epiphany. Better to give him the benefit of the doubt. "You know that I do."

He breathed hard for a moment, then seemed to steady, as if things had suddenly come into focus. "Why am I back? How did you get him out?"

Nat put the water down. "Cognitive recalibration." Then added lightly, "I hit you really hard on the head,” as she came around to sit on the bed.

His eyes followed her, and he offered a very sincere, and a little sad sounding, "Thanks."

She supposed she'd been hoping maybe the mind control had been so complete he wouldn't remember anything that had happened. As if Loki had simply controlled him like a drone, had completely shut him out. But she could tell by the look on his face that hadn't been true. He remembered. It was the shades of fear and guilt and grief that moved over his features that prompted her to lean over and uncuff his arms. He wasn't going to hurt anyone, least of all her.

The next thing out of his mouth didn't surprise her at all. "Tasha. How many agents did—"

"Don't." It came out like a warning, like a scold. Because she'd known it was coming. Knew they would have this conversation dozens of times in the coming days and weeks. For the rest of his life, probably. "Don't do that to yourself, Clint. This is Loki. This is. . . monsters and magic and nothing we were ever trained for."

She watched him swallow, watched him breathe, watched the professional veneer slip back over his features. His voice was calmer and steadier when he said, "Loki. He get away?" 

"Yeah," she said softly, then tilted her head. "Don't suppose you know where?"

He was shaking his head almost before she'd finished speaking. "Didn't need to know. Didn't ask." She stood and he started to shift to sit up properly. Her boots were loud on the metal floor of the cell as she walked to the door and studied the guard still hanging around outside. It was easier to listen to him talk about Loki's plans if she didn't have to look at him. She could pretend it was like any other mission planning session.

"If I put an arrow through Loki's eye socket, I'd sleep better I suppose," he said quietly.

The words made her feel a bit better, even if they came out of a clenched jaw. She sat next to him again, all but touching. "Now you sound like you."

He looked over at her. "But you don't. You're a spy, not a soldier. Now you want to wade into a war. Why?"

What did Loki do to you?

Of course he would know. Out of thrall ten seconds and he saw the chinks in her armor as clear as day. "He didn't, I just -" She stopped, not even certain what to say. How to explain the churn of emotions in her right then. 

She had to look away from him, afraid of him seeing too much. She pursed her lips and looked down, trying to find a way to say it, a way he would understand that wouldn't lay her bare. 

Then he said her name softly and she felt stripped of it all anyway.

"I've been compromised," she said finally. He nodded, understanding perfectly, as she'd hoped he would. "I've got red in my ledger," she added. "I'd like to wipe it out."

He nodded, but he didn't say anything. Out of the corner of his eye, she could see him glance up at the security camera in the room. Then he moved his hand so he could touch hers, with just a few fingers. She wove her fingers with his, holding on tightly. "I missed you," she whispered, soft as she could.

He closed his eyes. "I'm so sorry," he replied.

"It's not your fault," she told him, knowing he wouldn't believe her. "I'm glad you're back."

He looked down at his arm, and smiled a little. "You bit me."

"You were pulling my hair at the time. Sorority girl fighting style had been established."

"Did I hurt you?" The way he said that made her think she'd lie about a gunshot wound, if she had one.

"No," she said, glad she could be honest about it. "You weren't even the worst fight I had today." She pointed to the corner. "I got your bow."

"And you brought it in here with us? That's an act of faith."

"I did strap you down," she pointed out. "But you sounded mostly like you before I knocked you out."

"The transition is very fuzzy." He looked at the camera again. Then he stood up and walked into the small attached bathroom. She could see him in there, inspecting the ceiling. "Hey, come over here."

Curious, she stood and went over to see what had suddenly caught his interest. When she got into the bathroom, he pointed up and said, "Confirm you also do not see any cameras in here."

Smile tugging at her mouth, she thoroughly scanned the ceiling and corners. "I can confirm the lack of cameras."

Without a word he closed the door, pushed her up against it, and kissed her. It was charged with the same kind of rough, desperate energy as those nights when a mission had gone sideways and they'd barely gotten out alive. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back, mouth open to him. Who knew what the next few hours might bring? Right now he was alive and sane in her arms, which, for the last few days, was all she had wanted out of life.

He held her face in his hands, mumbling, "I missed you," against her mouth. Then he slid them down her body, like he wanted to make sure nothing had changed. The touch heated her blood, despite the circumstances. After all this time, she supposed she'd trained herself to find adrenaline an aphrodisiac.

She arched into his hands, whispering his name. He lifted his head and looked down at her, a turbulent jumble of emotion in his eyes. He didn't say anything, just looked down at her, searching her face. Like maybe he was expecting her to push him away.

Cupping his jaw in one hand, she made sure to catch his gaze. "I'm here. Whatever you need, I'm here."

"I don't know," he replied, his voice quiet.

That she understood all too well. She stroked his cheekbone with a thumb. "It's all right. We can just do this."

He nodded, and kissed her again. Then he slid the zipper of her catsuit down, slowly and hesitantly. She slipped her arms out of the snug suit so he could roll it down, leaving her in a camisole and bra. "We'll experiment, and we'll figure it out," she said softly, echoing his words from their first time together.

He tugged the camisole upwards. "You ground me," he told her. For so many years, she had leaned on him, relied on him for strength. Right now, it seemed completely flipped.

"We've been constants for each other a very long time. The tide, the phases of the moon, and you." She lifted her arms, letting him pull the camisole over her head. 

He found the hooks of her bra next. "I. . .I just want. . ." he trailed off, like he didn't know how to articulate it. She let the bra slide down her arms, leaving her naked to the waist. He was still fully dressed, but she didn't make any move towards his clothes. He seemed to need this to be about her and she wasn't going to push him to do something he didn't want.

She leaned close to kiss him again and repeated, "I'm here."

Carefully he cupped her breasts in his hands, his fingers warm and rough. "You are so beautiful."

Her nipples pebbled and grew taut under his calluses. "Thank you," she whispered, not entirely sure what else to say. He kissed her again, saving her from further talking. He wedged one leg between hers, and something about the motion made her grind against him instinctively. But that got her a little growl, so it was clearly what he wanted.

She repeated the motion, sinking her hands into his hair as the kiss took off again. The old heat and desperation was back, tightening her skin. She rocked against the hard muscle of his thigh, sensation jolting through her, making her ache. He murmured something she didn't catch, and then his hand slid down into the bottom half of her catsuit, fingers easily finding just the right spot.

When he touched her she became aware of how wet she was. That should probably embarrass her, nothing about today had been very sexy, save that last couple of minutes. Maybe the relief of having him back and touching her was enough. He circled her clit with those rough fingertips and she moaned into his mouth helplessly. He sucked on her lower lip and whispered, "Let me make you feel good."

It was an impulse she understood. Temper days of violence with pleasure. Prove to yourself you were more than a killer, more than a creature of pain and death. She whimpered and nodded, head falling back against the door as she gave into what he was doing. She trusted him. He always made her feel good.

She felt his mouth on her throat, kissed the spot where her pulse pounded under the skin. She clutched at his head, held him to her as the first flutters of her climax started deep inside and her body began to pulse in time with it. He held on, breathing with her, letting her ride it out. He held her as it faded and she sagged against him.

She mumbled his name, then asked, "Do you want me to-?"

He tensed, just a little, and then said, "No."

It was the answer she'd expected. So she just nodded and leaned on him, breathing in the familiar scent of him. Eventually he relaxed a little, and sighed. "We shouldn't stay in here. I don't want security to look at the feed and send guards."

"I know." She indulged another moment, the space of a few heart beats, then slowly let him go, crouching to scoop up her bra. 

He picked up her camisole and held it out to her. "You sure you want to do this?"

"By ‘this’ you mean tracking down the alien god and starting a war?"

"Well. Technically he is starting the war. But yes."

She tugged the camisole on and tucked it into the catsuit before rolling up the armor and slipping her arms into the sleeves. "No. I'm not sure. But it has to be done and there is a very short list of people who can do it."

"Yeah," he said with a sigh.

She hesitated and, for the first time in their partnership, she offered him an out. "You don't have to come."

He looked up at her immediately. "Of course I do."

Relief relaxed her muscles. "I will feel better with you at my back."

"I would never leave you to do something like this alone," he said quietly.

"And I would never want to ask you to do something that would hurt you," she replied, just as soft.

"I can't fix it," he said. "I'll never be able to fix it. But I have to do something."

She reached out and touched his face. "I understand." It was quite possibly the greatest understatement of her life, but she couldn't think of any other word for it. So she pulled the bathroom door open and stepped back into the room, giving him space. She shut the door, and a moment later heard water running.

Then the outer door slid open, and Rogers stepped in. "Time to go."

She jumped a little, looking up at him. She let a little of her confusion show on her face. "Go where?"

"I'll tell you on the way," he said sternly. "Can you fly one of those jets?"

The bathroom door clicked and Clint came out, drying his hands. "I can."

Rogers looked at him a moment, then back to Nat. His expression barely changed, but she knew exactly what he was asking her. She gave a short, brisk nod, braced for an argument. Instead, he looked back at Clint. "You got a suit?" Clint nodded silently. "Then suit up." Rogers turned on his heel and left.

Nat stared at the doorway a moment, then looked at Clint. "Shall we?"

He smiled, which was a sight for sore eyes. "Yes. Though I do feel vaguely like we just got caught in the backseat by Dad."

That actually surprised a laugh out of her. "Is that what this sensation is? Part guilt part smug defiance?"

"Yes. I suppose Captain Rogers could just be obtuse, of course. But I doubt it. If he wasn't good at reading people, he wouldn't have let me come along."

She shrugged. "We're grown ups. He was in war. I'm sure he understands." Picking up his bow from the wall, she held it out.

When he took it, he made sure their hands touched. "Let's go kick some ass."

*

_Upstate New York, 2016_

Clint wasn't a man who had a lot of friends. Not because he was difficult, or because people didn't like him. But most people talked too much, and they tended to exhaust him. He was friends with his team, of course, but he spent most social occasions quietly watching whatever was going on. Left to his own devices, he'd rather be alone, or with Nat.

His friendship with Barnes had surprised him. But he was on the very short list of people who seemed happy to coexist in silence. It had started with training exercises, and developed into an intermittent beer-and-shooting habit. 

Barnes was also the only person he knew who could possibly truly appreciate Nat's epic Christmas present to him. He now had access to a private-land practice range in the boonies upstate where he was clear to shoot two miles.

Most of the drive up the New York Thruway was in silence, as was their way. 

"Something I've been wondering," Barnes asked.

"Mmm?"

"You ever made two miles?"

Clint smiled. "Not yet. Somehow I acquired a reputation at SHEILD for having never missed, but that's only because nobody's watching me at long distance range. There is a point where physics kicks in. But I've gotten close."

Barnes nodded and munched on his chips. "They aim missiles accurately across continents."

Sometimes, it was like Nat was training the man. "You ever make a kill shot at 3000 meters?"

"The world record is like 2500."

"Yes. Because SHIELD shared my kills with the Guinness Book of World Records."

The other man inclined his head, acknowledging his point. "One of the reports on the Winter Soldier said the shot was from around 3000 away, but as I have no memory of it I don't know if I can really count it. I broke 2200 during the war, that would have been a pretty big deal if we could have told anyone about it."

Clint whistled. "In the _forties_? Jesus. What the hell were you shooting?"

"Howard Stark custom made my rifle. Ammo, too. It was beautiful," he said wistfully, like he was talking a woman he'd loved and lost. Clint understood.

"Oh, yeah. Isn't it in the Captain America display at the Smithsonian?"

"It is. And they've bumped up security since Steve liberated his uniform."

He waved a hand dismissively. "Tell Nat. She'll go get it for you."

Barnes grinned. "I suppose if nothing else it would look good over the mantle."

"Do you have a mantle?"

"No," he admitted, then gave Clint a sidelong glance. "Actually, that reminds me of something I've been meaning to ask you."

"I don't think Stark is going to let you put in a fireplace." Though if it was construction help he wanted, he did kind of owe Barnes from the bathroom thing.

"Amanda has a spare computer we run a gif of a yule log on," he said, so dryly Clint wasn't sure if he was kidding or not. He paused, then said, "I want to ask Amanda to move in together. But - and I feel you will understand this - it's going to be a negotiation worthy of Versailles, so I need some leverage."

He was quiet a long moment. What they likely needed the most was space, and the biggest apartments in the building were on the Avengers floor. Barnes was also the only Avenger who didn't live on it, aside from Stark. "You want my apartment."

Barnes glanced over as if trying to read his mood. "I know you two living together is probably more politically fraught than my situation. I can respect that. But if there's anyway you could make it work I would be very grateful."

"It's not. . ." He sighed. He really did not discuss his relationship with Nat with anyone. But wasn't that the point of friends? "It's not really. . . me."

"No offense, but I'm not exactly surprised she's sketchy about commitment."

"I suppose there is a certain level of obviousness to that, yes." He noted their exit approaching and changed lanes. "It has been two years."

"Have you ever slept in the other apartment?" Barnes asked.

"No. We've never put sheets on the bed. We do use the bathroom sometimes, and the empty living room as a practice room/gym. That's about it."

Traffic snarled up a bit at the exit and Barnes stayed quiet while Clint negotiated the series of idiots who didn't know how to merge. "Some would consider getting a pet together was a fairly significant commitment."

"We've never been normal." He paused. "That was her idea, you know. The cat."

Barnes was quiet again. "Have you ever just asked?"

"No." He never asked. About anything, really. Other than a few times of great need, and then just barely. He never wanted to push her.

"Speaking as a former brain washed assassin, a watcher of people, _and_ someone in what I consider a fairly healthy relationship, it doesn't hurt to ask. She'll never know what you want if you don't tell her."

"She just has. . . boundaries." 

"She's also logical. You're already living together, in everything but name. She's had a lot of time to adjust to the idea and no one's ended up sleeping on the couch." He shrugged. "Part of a relationship is crossing boundaries. Amanda and I would still be sitting on opposite ends of a lab table in utter silence if neither of us had started pushing."

He turned up a bumpy dirt road. "I will talk to her," he said. "Since you asked."

"I appreciate it. In our stoic sniper way that we have."

"Let's go shoot things, eh?"

"Lead the way."

That night, long after dark and long out of ammo, Clint let himself into their apartment. He'd long ago begun thinking of it as theirs. Nat was in the kitchen, cooking something that smelled good. After New Years some of the wives club had decided they wanted to learn to cook. Somehow, Nat had been roped into it and every Wednesday they met up in the penthouse for a private lesson. Clint's stomach had never been happier.

London was at Nat's feet, watching expectantly for something to drop.

He went into the kitchen, coming up behind her and sliding his arms around her waist. "Hello."

She leaned back into him, giving him a little of her weight. "Hello. How was the range?"

"We had a lot of fun. Shot trees, spoke as men do."

"Was there scratching and belching?"

He kissed her temple. "I'll never tell. What are you making?"

"Seafood risotto. Hence my spectator." She gestured at London with her spoon.

Cooking seemed to soothe her, so maybe now was a good time. "We did get talking, and Barnes expressed an interest in possibly at some point living on the Avengers floor."

Her stirring didn't even pause. "Thinking of giving up your apartment?"

"I don't know that that's my call to make."

Now she did pause, turning a little to look at him. "We do essentially live together. It's probably past time to make it official."

"Neither of us has ever even slept over there."

"The second bathroom is nice, but probably not worth screwing over a teammate to keep it." She glanced up at him. "He want to move in with Amanda?"

"Yes. He's hoping to use the apartment for leverage."

She set her spoon to one side and turned to face him wrapping her arms around his neck. "So do you want to officially move in together to do your friend a solid? Or do you want to live with me 'cause you want to?"

He frowned down at her. "I have always wanted to."

Frowning back at him, she said, "You never said so. You kept putting it back on me."

"Because you're the one who has trouble with this sort of thing. I didn't want to rush you."

"We danced around the topic once, the day we moved in and never again." She paused. "Though I suppose that's my fault as much as yours." He felt her fingers thread through his hair. "I would like to live with you. Officially."

He really thought there would be more to this. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I wasn't ready to make the decision when we got here. But that was almost two years ago. I like having shared space. We have a cat. And Christmas ornaments. I'm amassing t-shirt and mug collections. It's nice. And there's no one I like sharing that with but you."

He leaned down to kiss her. "God, has it really been two years?"

"In April," she confirmed. "Doesn't seem that long. And yet it also seems totally natural." She was quiet, then smiled. "It's nice to have a home."

"I could be home anywhere you are." He tucked her hair behind her ear. "We are the steady constants in each other's lives."

"That's been true a very long time." She glanced behind her, then turned swiftly to stir the food again. "Sounds like we're in agreement."

"Yes. We'll get the connecting door taken out, and then. . ." 

Apparently the food passed muster because she stopped her stirring and looked at him again. "I think that's pretty much it."

He felt himself grinning. "Thank you."

She blinked. "Why are you thanking me?"

"For agreeing. For wanting to."

Scooping up a little of the risotto on her spoon, she blew on it, tasted it, then held it out to him, hand cupped under it to catch any spills, for him to taste. "We've domesticated each other," she said. "I'm barefoot and cooking in the kitchen. It's a different kind of adventure."

He took a bite, and found it delicious. He remembered when she struggled to make toast. "Have I told you I love you today?"

Her eyes lit up in a smile. "You can tell me as often as you like. But I prefer it when you show me." She turned back to the pan and took it off the heat before adding, "After dinner."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting! There will be more to the series, hopefully in a few weeks.


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